Fall of Authority
by Cthuwho
Summary: The story of an unlikely hero coming to terms with his life during the final hours of the Great War, and his adventures throughout Tamriel to stop the onslaught of a twisted evil. Filled with original characters, though all places and events mentioned are true to the Elder Scrolls lore. Moments of happiness, sadness, humor, and darkness fill the novel.
1. Prologue

Prologue:

The night was cool and the air crisp, the sound of crickets ringing through the dark green grass. A soft wind rustled the browning leaves in the trees, bringing about a feel of serenity. The two moons hovered in the sky giving out a light glow that distorted the shape of the ancient Ayleid ruin in the distance. Nothing but the plants moved, and it seemed that they were the only life in sight.

Suddenly, a figure jumped down from a tree. It looked around before running off in the direction of the ruin. More and more similar figures joined it, building up a small army of silhouettes. The stopped maybe thirty feet from the entrance of the ruin, behind a marble pillar.

Standing under a crumbling statue of an elf holding a greatsword were two high elves guarding the spiraling staircase that lead to the entrance. Thalmor mages, sent from the Aldmeri Dominion. It was hard to believe how many troops had been sent into Cyrodiil as of late. They held rare and valuable Daedric weapons, scavenged from the Oblivion Crisis 174 years ago. Those weapons were the target of the small group.

A woman cleared her throat. "Okay," she whispered. "We've been trying to locate this store of weapons for months. If we get our hands on them, Rikvar thinks he can melt them down and enhance our equipment. We cannot blow this." She took off her helmet, modeled like the helmets of all other Blades. Her long dark hair fell back, and she swept it out of her eyes. Sighing, she wiped the sweat off her brow.

A second of these Blades spoke up now, a man with a gruff but high pitched voice. "Uh, no mean to impose Tennsa ma'am, but-"

"But what?" the woman, Tennsa, interrupted. "You think we can't take them?"

He nodded gravely.

Tennsa laughed quietly. "Well," she scoffed. "We may not equal their numbers, but those elves aren't as great as they think. We're Blades, not some riffraff militia from Bravil." Seeing that her speech was improving the mood amongst her squad, she continued. "They think that they can just waltz into our province, our Empire, and tear it down? I say no. It ends here, in Cyrodiil. We won't let them take any more of Hammerfell. We won't let them lay a finger on Skyrim or High Rock. We'll beat them back to their pathetic island for good!"

A resounding cheer met this, upon which each member of the group clapped their hands to their mouths. Tennsa peered around the pillar. The Thalmor agents had not heard them. They could breathe again.

Smiling around at her comrades, she put her helmet back on, and gestured for them to follow her. Swiftly and silently, they wrapped around the ruin. They had gone through special training to be able to be stealthy despite their heavy and cumbersome armor. The training proved its worth, for they were able to eliminate the guards at the door without them making so much as a sound.

The man who spoke earlier smiled at Tennsa. "I guess I understand now why they hate us so much. They were right to kill the agents in their territory."

Tennsa glared at him. "Gurthar, absolutely nothing validates their bloody massacre of my friends. You're new, so you never got to know them." She looked up at the stars, a pained expression on her face. "But I knew the names and faces of every one of them." There was a small pause before she spoke again. "Let's go. Be careful of traps, these ruins are rigged with them."

The stone door slid open without too much noise or effort, which was surprising considering its great age. Its name was Niryastare, positioned north of Anvil along a river bordering Hammerfell, the province of the Redguards. The area had been captured by the elves several years previously, making the mission into the depths of their territory highly dangerous.

Before the Blades was a long empty hallway. Slowly and quietly they made their ways down it, to see that it branched off to their left and right. On each side was a staircase with a guard in full elven armor at the top. This time they were noticed.

"Blades!" The one on the left shouted, his voice echoing through the stone passageways. Before he could take out the mace that was strapped to his side, one of the Blades rushed over and knocked him down the stairs with her shield. She then proceeded to unsheath a dagger, which she threw, hitting him directly in an opening in his armor.

The other elf looked horrified at her friend's death, and flung herself at Tennsa screaming, her face twisted in pain. Ruthlessly, Tennsa slashed her across the neck. "Let's go!" she shouted. "Our cover is blown!"

They ran down the steps and entered a chamber. In the center of the room was an opened cage that once held a varla stone, long since plundered by adventurers. More Thalmor soldiers and a mage were in this room, and they were prepared for a fight this time. The chaos and clanging of metal on metal filled the room, lightning from the mage's fingertips bouncing across the walls. The Blades eventually defeated their adversaries, but only after losing three of their members.

A girl knelt beside her dead friend, who was the one who threw the dagger previously. She was sobbing, running her hands through the bloody hair of the corpse.

"We can mourn the dead later," Tennsa said softly to her. "We need to make sure they didn't die in vain."

The girl swallowed her pain and nodded, tears still in her eyes.

One after another, the group made their way through the ruins, sustaining losses far less than the Thalmor. Eventually they made their way to the room in which the weapons were being stored. Racks upon racks of swords, daggers, axes, maces, and more, their black and red coloration glinting in the dull light. There were no more guards.

Unable to control their pleasure at securing the supplies, they rushed forwards and started packing them up.

The door opened. Tennsa turned around. Her face fell.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

His eyes opened slowly, stinging in the early morning light. It was cold. He pulled his thin white sheets closer to his body, trying to block out the bitter northern wind. He had always hated the cold, scorning how it sucked comfort out of one's body like an invisible and malevolent leech.

Turning on his side, he looked angrily at his surroundings, as if they were to blame for his premature waking. The simple wooden floors and the green banners hanging by the wooden pillars spanning the room seemed to taunt him. Once again he tried to close his eyes and block out the wretched light…

Light. It was bright out. His eyes flung open, their startlingly pale gold gleaming in the sun of the morning. He had overslept. He had overslept by a lot.

In a sort of sporadic motion, he tossed the blankets off of himself, and fell onto the floor. He winced as his forehead slammed onto the ground, but forced himself up as quickly as he could. Frantically looking around, he located his disheveled robe and slipped it on. He could not bother to follow protocol and make his bed, so he simply ran out of the barracks. On his way, he passed a mirror.

He looked like crap. His reddish brown hair was a tangled mess, and though it was relatively short, it still managed to get into his eyes. Though his skin was normally relatively fair, it looked downright pasty compared to the dark bags under his eyes. The robe he wore was navy blue, and wrinkled beyond belief. The captains would not stand for this.

Upon his entering of the main hall, the twenty or so men and women who were gathered in a circle became silent. They had clearly been in the middle of a conference, and he had just interrupted it.

One man in particular looked incredibly scornful. He, like all the others, was wearing the same kind of blue robe, but even compared to the others his was particularly clean. His short blonde hair was stiff and straw like, and his blue eyes were squinted in disgust.

"Ah," he said, his voice soft but scrutinizing. "Beras, how nice of you to join us." There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. "Although, it would have been nicer if you were here on time."

Beras shuffled uncomfortably, trying to smooth out his clothes. "Yes, uh," he said, his voice low and quiet. "You see, I-"

The blonde man held up his hand to silence him. "I don't want to hear any excuses out of you. The only thing that can be said is what has been said to you before. You're lazy, stupid, irresponsible," he said, holding up a finger with each word in his list. "Unskilled, unfit-"

"Give him a break, Widmur," a girl spoke up, flipping her long black hair to the side. "Yelling at him isn't going to help. You've already proven that." She stood up and walked over to Beras, looking him in the eyes. "The question is, what will?"

After a few seconds of silence, Beras stammered, "Uh, was that a, uh, rhetorical question? Or was I actually supposed to, uh, answer?"

She rolled her eyes and turned around, walking back to her seat. "At least sit down and listen to the rest of what we are discussing. Don't say anything."

Widmur cleared his throat. "Captain Ceolwe, we can't tolerate this behavior from him anymore! It's outrageous. We're Blades. Do you even know what that means?"

Again, Ceolwe rolled her eyes. "Not this again. I don't want to hear it," she said. "I'll talk to him in private later, if I find it necessary."

Awkwardly, Beras sat down in an empty seat between two other men. On the table was a map of Tamriel and its provinces: High Rock, Hammerfell, Skyrim, Morrowind, Black Marsh, Elsweyr, Valenwood, the Summerset Isles, and Cyrodiil.

Small flags were placed all across it, representing which nation controlled what areas. Little green flags covered all of Morrowind and Black Marsh, for the young nation of Argonia had taken the land of their former enslavers. Black flags showed the territories where the Thalmor, agents of the Aldmeri Dominion, had taken captive. They spanned the entirety of Valenwood, Elsweyr, and the Summerset Isles, and had begun moving into the southern parts of Hammerfell and Cyrodiil around the city of Anvil.

The Captain cleared her throat. "Once the squad we dispatched to Anvil returns with the Daedric weapons, we should have the advantage we need to take back the Cortens Mountains. Any questions?"

Slowly, Beras raised his hand.

"Not you," Ceolwe said harshly. No one else seemed to be confused about anything, so she stood up. "Excellent. Back to training. Beras, clean up after the horses, and try not to get in anyone's way."

Horses aren't so bad, Beras thought as he brushed twigs and bits of hay out of a silver one's hair. They were certainly more affectionate than people, and appreciated him for who he was. They didn't care that he couldn't swing a sword for his life and always forgot he could block with his shield. They were perfectly happy with his ability to brush their fur and the fact that he brought them lumps of sugar that he stole from the kitchens.

But his fellow Blades didn't see him that way. They hardly considered him as part of their group, just someone who was there by default. This was partially true, which made the accusations all the more unbearable.

Four years previously, the Aldmeri Dominion first invaded Anvil, where he had been living with his mother and two sisters. His father had died six years previously, when Beras was only twelve, killed by bandits on the road. A great man, he had always tried his hardest to bring home something, despite their painfully obvious lack of gold.

The day he died, the entire family had been waiting in silence outside the gates long into the night. It had been hours since he was supposed to be home, but no signs of him had shown up. It was around two in the morning on the 19th of Last Seed when the guards turned up with his body, stripped bare of all valuables. The estimated value of the property his life was taken for was less than twenty Septims.

So six years later, days after Beras had turned eighteen, the town was invaded. Fires burned everything to the ground; the houses, the shops, even the old chapel. He had been just outside the city when the attack was launched, helping out at the stables for a few extra coins. It seemed that was the only useful thing he could do: tend to the horses.

Even though he knew his sisters and mother were still in the city, all he could do was watch. He wasn't able to move, paralyzed by fear. The screaming, the light of the fire, were images that would never cease to haunt him. And he could never forgive himself for abandoning his family to their deaths, simply because he was a coward.

The Blades had shown up too late to save the city. The majority of its citizens had already been killed or taken as slaves. However, one woman, far too old to be fighting, had found him hiding in the hills. Beautiful white hair and kind eyes. Her name was Gretta, and she had died shortly after the incident, but it was she who was to blame for his initiation into the organization.

A man about Beras' age burst into the stables, causing him to jump as he was broken from his train of thought. He looked panicked. "Get to the gates," he said. "Now." Without another word, he left.

Beras stood up, and rushed out into the open. Every other member of the Blades it seemed was rushing out to look over the edge of the fortress. Fortunately, he was one of the first to get there. His eyes opened wide in horror.

Below them stood two elves, a man and a woman, both wearing the black and gold robes of the Thalmor. They looked up and shouted, "We come in peace!"

"That's a lie if I ever heard one," said a voice, but Beras was unable to identify the speaker.

"What do you want?" Ceolwe had stepped up to the edge. "We aren't letting you in, if that's what it is."

The Thalmor woman looked disgusted. "As if we would need your permission. You humans think yourselves our equals, but you may as well ask a dog permission to take its bone."

Someone coughed behind Beras. He turned around to see a Dunmer, who mumbled quietly to himself, "They always assume we're all human…"

The woman's companion cleared his throat. "We simply wish to leave you a gift," he said, pulling a large parcel out of his robes. "And a warning. We'll place it by your gate so you may pick it up once we've left. Don't think this is the last you'll see of us." Without another word, they left.

Ceolwe walked casually down the steps and opened the gate. Someone from the crowd spoke up. "Wait! It could be a trap."

As if she didn't hear him, the Captain lifted the parcel and opened it. Her face turned white immediately, and she dropped it. Something large and somewhat round rolled out.

The head of Captain Tennsa.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The shock of losing Tennsa hit hard on everyone. Few words were spoken amongst those at Cloud Ruler Temple, the Blades fortress in Cyrodiil that they were staying in. She had always seemed too brave, too strong, too alive to die. Yet here they were, burning what little they had left of her. They didn't even have her katana to hang with those of the other fallen knights. It seemed as if the sky was mourning her loss as well, the tear-like drops of rain splattering across the roof of the temple.

Beras lay on his bed, unable to sleep. He was curled in a fetal position, hands locked around his knees. Tennsa had always been his favorite of the Captains. Though she had never been particularly nice to him, she at least gave him a decent amount of respect. She was the only one who thought there was more to being a Blade than the ability to fight.

The barracks door slid open, and a woman, about twenty-five years of age, stepped in. She was dressed completely in the armor of the faction, but held her helmet at her side. She had shoulder length brown hair, swept over to the right side of her head. Her blue eyes were out of focus and filled with the need to sleep. She was sweating and breathing heavily.

She walked over to the bed next to Beras' and collapsed, letting out a long sigh of relief. Looking over at him, she threw him a weak smile. "So," she said. "How's life?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Was that a joke?" he asked.

She laughed. "Yeah. It was." Closing her eyes, she spoke more quietly. "It wasn't funny though." She threw her katana onto the floor at the foot of her bed and began taking her armor off, tossing each piece down just as unceremoniously.

Beras looked down at the discarded equipment. "Uh, Annel, don't you think you should put that in the armory?"

Annel shot him a dirty look. "Like you actually care," she scoffed. "You just don't want me getting in any more trouble."

Annel was Gretta's granddaughter, and the only remaining member of her family. They had been friends since Beras' initiation into the Blades. It had started out as more of a mutually beneficial relationship: Beras did Annel's chores, and in return she used her influence over the higher-ups to insure he didn't get into too much trouble.

Unlike him, she had always been incredibly skilled in combat, surpassing even those who had been training for decades longer than her. This caused her to be greatly respected by the Captains. However, she had never had much talent in the area of military strategy, preferring to rush directly into battle. She also had a knack for disobeying and disrespecting her comrades and leaders.

Beras sat up and stretched his arms before falling back onto his bed in dizziness. He rolled over, and shoved his face into his pillow.

"Hey," Annel said softly. "Cheer up. Being sad won't get anything done." Seeing that he didn't respond, she continued. "If you just lie there you're just being a waste of resources. Tennsa wouldn't have wanted anyone to grieve her, because she knew that people die every day, and she isn't any different."

His voice muffled even further by the pillow, Beras mumbled back, "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that as we speak, people are dying?"

There were a few moments of silence following this statement. "I didn't mean it like that," Annel retorted in a somewhat irritated tone. "Don't twist my words." A few more seconds of quiet followed. "Why don't you go groom the horses or something to take your mind off of things?"

"I can't," Beras said. "I'm not in the mood."

Annel snorted. "You're telling me. Those stupid oafs want me to train endlessly it seems! I've been at it for hours, and only just managed to convince them to give me a break!"

As though he didn't hear her, Beras sat up suddenly, furious. "How could they?" he shouted. "How could they take her away from us? Don't they understand that there are people who care about her? That she had a life?" He was breathing heavily.

Annel looked extremely worried. "Woah, calm down. It's scary to see that you have the ability to become angry." Sighing heavily, she sat up too. "Of course they don't understand. They don't understand anything. I don't understand. How can anyone be that evil? To think that they are inherently better than those they once considered friends? To try to tear down something that has been established for centuries? It makes no sense."

"I just wish I could be useful somehow," Beras said, returning to his usual soft tone of voice. "You at least will be able to help out in battle. And you know just as well as I do that the only reason the captains allow me to stay is out of tribute to Gretta, and nothing more."

"Well," replied Annel. "You do help with some things. And there's no point in complaining. You've been privileged by being able to stay here. You might as well make good use of that. Anyway, do you think you could put my armor away? Thanks."

While hanging her armor on the racks, Beras pondered what she meant. He might as well make good use of it. But how? Sure, he got to meet some pretty interesting people, and of course the horses were nice, but how could he actually become useful? He couldn't fight; that was for sure. Not only was he hardly able to walk in a full suit of armor, but his skill with a weapon was about on the level of a mudcrab's.

He was somewhat stealthy, but not enough to rely on it. If he practiced he might advance to some degree, but his stocky figure made him easily visible. He had never tried out a bow, but if it was anywhere near as difficult as it sounded there was no way he'd be able to use one. Learning how to use magic was impossible, unless by some miracle a mage stopped by the temple and decided to train him. However, he couldn't rule it out without trying it.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he could never be a Blade. He could call himself one and he could be considered one at most, but he would never be able to fight the way the others did.

Maybe, a voice in his mind said. Maybe, you aren't supposed to help. Maybe you're just a bystander.

Before the thought could develop any further, he hit himself repetitively in the head. "Stupid, stupid stupid stupid…" he mumbled. Then he looked up. Standing to his left was Vyncent, a tall and thin man with pale brown hair and tan skin. The two of them had never really been friends or enemies. Mostly they had simply existed in each other's lives. They rarely spoke, and when the did, it wasn't ever for very long. His face demonstrated an expression resembling a mix between horror, disgust, and confusion.

"Uh…" he stammered, his voice low and clear. "Are you okay…?"

Beras flushed in embarrassment, nodded, and walked out the door, relishing in the fresh air. Everyone else was inside, hiding from the cold. He walked over to the edge of the walls and looked out at the land. Off in the distance he could easily see Bruma, and even the Imperial City. If he looked far to the east, he could even see smoke rising from the Red Mountain, still smoldering from its eruption.

Incredible really, he thought, that despite the vast and bountiful land given to them, the people of Tamriel had to squabble over it, hurting thousands of innocents in the process. Why couldn't people just understand each other, and the fact that they need to make due with what they already have.

Beras closed his eyes, squeezing out a single tear. It wasn't fair. No one should be so evil, so cruel to another person. No one should consider anything that can speak back to them as lesser beings. The Aldmeri Dominion cannot just walk in on the Empire and wreak it down.

Things needed to change. He opened his eyes, no longer wet with tears. A new light of purpose shone in them. For change to happen, it needed a vessel, one that could overcome obstacles and use their influence to bring it about.

He would be that vessel. He might not have fate on his side like the Nerevarine, and he might not have the might of Cyrodiil's champion. He certainly did not have the skill of any hero, or the power and influence of a Septim, but that didn't matter.

Beras knew he had something far better. Something that easily surpassed any of those other traits. He had his will on his side, and this was the day it became as strong as dragon scale.

He stood up, and looked back at the temple, and ran to find Annel. There was no time to waste.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

His katana clattered to the ground at his feet. Hands on his knees, Beras stood, gasping for breath. Annel stood over him, her blade pointed at his throat.

"Come on," she cried. "I was expecting you to last at least five seconds this time!" With a flourish of her sword, she sheathed it neatly.

Beras plopped to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed. "You're one of the best swordsmen within the Blades!" he complained. "And anyway, you're exaggerating about the time."

Annel flipped her hair back. "You're right. It was shorter than that. And for the record, I'm using my left hand and moving much slower than I normally do." She looked him up and down, eyes squinted. "You know," she said, softer now. "You might at least get by against weaker enemies. You don't look like someone they'd want to fight. That is, until you actually started fighting."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. He had never disliked his appearance per se, however it often mislead people to think he was some sort of strong warrior with nerves of steel. Then they got to know him and usually began to respect him less.

Beras looked around at his surroundings. It was late at night, and the nearby runestone glowed a soft green. It gave the area an eerie feel, and cast ominous shadows across the other pillars. Legend had it that by manipulating the stone, one could bind magic armor to themselves for a short period of time.

Beras stood and picked up his weapon. Annel raised her eyebrows. He tried to swing it at her, but it flew out of his hands and lodged itself in the dirt by the runestone. They had snuck out in the night in order to give him some training, seeing how the captains had outright banned him from practicing with any kind of weapon.

"Okay," said Annel. "No more katana for you. Let's try something lighter." She reached into the large sack of equipment she had brought until she pulled out a short sword. It was made of steel, and wasn't used by the blades, so Beras wondered where she had found it.

After swinging it around a bit, he discovered that she was right, and it was easier using a lighter weapon. It still felt awkward though, and he wasn't a fan of it.

"You know," Beras said. "It might prove useful if I could find a magic teacher. I mean, we know I'm miserable with weapons, so maybe I'm good at magic."

Annel looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Alright," she said. "Don't tell anyone because Nords aren't supposed to like magic, but I once learned how to cast a simple ice spell."

Beras looked at her, wide eyed and excited. "Show me!" he pleaded.

She held out her hand, and tiny snowflakes and frosty wind started swirling around it. She swung her hand around, and a burst of cold wind flew out. Beras looked amazed, but Annel looked disappointed.

"What's wrong?" he said. "That was amazing!"

Slapping her palm to her face, Annel groaned. "No, it wasn't! I did it wrong! There's supposed to be a jet of frost!"

Beras fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oh," he mumbled. "So you can't teach me?"

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side. "Well, I can teach you how to channel magicka, which you need to know to use any given spell, but I clearly can't remember how to do this stupid ice blast thing, so I can't teach it to you."

Anned stepped towards Beras and put her hands on his shoulders, just by the neck on either side. He looked rather uncomfortable, and shuffled his feet a little. "Um," he said. "What are you-"

"Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate."

A few minutes passed before she spoke again. "Okay, I think I've done a pretty accurate scan of your magicka system."

"I don't mean to interrupt," Beras said. "But, what is magicka?"

Annel looked dumbfounded. "By the divines, Beras! Are you that stupid!?" She composed herself, and then explained. "Magicka is the source of mystical energy that is required to cast any given spell. It's like your spiritual energy. Sort of." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, you seem to have a pretty average amount, meaning you might not be terrible."

Beras gave a grim smile. "Well that's a first," he said.

Annel rolled her eyes. "Saying that isn't going to help with anything. Anyway, try concentrating on your fingertips, but make your fingers longer than they really are. That should help you work it out."

He looked at her, utterly lost. "My fingertips but longer than- what? You aren't making sense!"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm bad at explaining things." Annel took a deep breath. "Imagine that your fingers are longer than they actually are. Extend them into the air, but not too far. Now concentrate on the bit of extra finger you created, and it should help you channel magicka to them."

Beras did as she asked. "I don't feel anything," he said.

"You aren't supposed to," Annel replied. "At least, not with such small amounts of magicka. But the only times you'd really feel it would be if you're casting some sort of grand master archmage type spell."

He looked down at his hands. Could he really be a mage? He certainly didn't look the part, and his family had never had a history of magic users. But if he couldn't fight with weapons, then how else would he get by? It had to be the path for him.

Annel looked at the sky, which was beginning to turn a bit blue. "We should probably get back to the temple before anyone realizes we're gone. We'll circle around close to the wall so the lookouts won't notice us."

"Won't the giant doors opening alert them?" Beras pointed out.

Annel looked at him, her eyes half closed in a scrutinizing look. "Beras. I've lived here all my life," she explained. "I know at which point it starts making noise, and I think you'll be able to fit through the gap."

He was in fact. It was a tight squeeze, but the two of them were able to slip in and make it back to the barracks without being seen.

Lying in bed, Beras looked at his outstretched arm, turning around his hand. Oh the power he might someday wield. It would certainly be a nice step up from being the useless horse boy. He had never really thought of himself as the type to use magic, but now it was all he could think of. He'd have to decide what school to learn.

There was destruction, of course, like the spell that Annel showed him. Controlling fire, frost, and lightning would be incredible, and could easily turn the tide of a battle. However, he wanted to avoid anything that could go horribly wrong and hurt someone.

Conjuration could also help a good deal. He'd be able to summon up weapons at a moment's notice. Actually, come to think of it, it would probably be best if he steered away from weapons. There were also daedra to summon, but he didn't feel comfortable consorting with them.

What were the others? Illusion, restoration, and what else? Alteration, was it? Restoration sounded pretty promising, seeing how he could assist his friends in combat. He didn't know all that much about the other schools though, besides their names. He would have to look into them as well.

Things were finally opening up to him. Beras smiled and rolled on his side, pulling his blankets closer to his body. The only problem now was finding someone who could possibly be able to teach him how to cast spells.

Now wasn't the time to think about that though. He needed to get rest so he didn't sleep in again.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Beras woke with a start and sat up as quickly as an arrow, smashing his head into something hard. Her rubbed his forehead, and looked up to see Annel looming over him, doing the same.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Annel shook her head as if to shake off the pain. "Nevermind that," she said. "You're being called by the captains. They need you for something."

"What!?" he cried. "Have you been taking skooma!? What in the name of Talos would they want with me!?" He had never been chosen for any kind of task, except cleaning and tending to the horses, and you didn't get called by the captains for that.

"What are you waiting for!?" Annel shouted. "Go! Go!"

Walking through the temple felt like walking through mud. It was as if time was oozing around him. Something must have gone horribly wrong, otherwise they would never have resorted to using him. Either that or they weren't planning on using him at all. Possibly they found out about his secret training, and they were going to punish him. But then, Annel would be punished too, so it couldn't be that.

The doors swung open slowly, giving out a long low creaking sound that accurately portrayed Beras' thoughts. The captains were sitting around the fire, perfectly silent. Each one had their eyes fixed on him. He felt like he was going to vomit. Or faint. Or both.

"This, fellow captains, is a first," said Ceolwe. "Beras seems to be on time."

No responses. No noise but the crackling of the fire and the ringing in his ears that was getting louder and louder and louder…

Ceolwe's mouth moved. "Wh-what?" Beras stammered.

She rolled her eyes. "I asked if you were ready for your first deployment."

Beras just stood, dumbfounded. He didn't respond for a few seconds. "My first… what?"

"Deployment. You'll be leaving the temple and helping on a mission."

Ever since he had come to the temple, he had dreamed of going on a mission, of actually being useful. But now that it was actually happening, he didn't feel ready. He didn't feel like it was real.

Ceolwe cleared her throat. "Seeing how you've been standing there for a few minutes I can only assume you have some sort of incredibly slow thought process going on through your head, probably contemplating whether or not you want to do this."

Beras blinked back to reality and shrugged.

"Anyway," she continued, "You won't actually be fighting. It's a long journey, and we just need you to look after the horses on the trip."

"How long?" Beras asked.

"You'll be entering Riverhold, the most northern city in Elsweyr. Naturally, you won't be wearing your Blades armor, or you'd be killed on sight. Just try to get into the city, and your comrades will take it from there."

He stood there, unmoving. Something had paralyzed him. Was it fear? Excitement? Whatever it was, it had completely taken him over. It took a few minutes before he was able to turn around and leave.

As he left the door, Ceolwe spoke once more. "Oh, and Beras?" She said.

He turned around and met eyes with her.

"Try not to die."

A few hours had passed since he was told about his mission, and Beras still hadn't prepared himself. He lay on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. It might just be the last time he could be in his bed. There were always those who didn't return from missions, even those that could handle themselves.

Annel wasn't coming on the mission, so she couldn't help him. She was probably the only one who would go out of her way to make sure he didn't die. For all he knew, that was the only reason he was on the mission: As some kind of distraction or diversion, and his death would signal some sort of coordinated attack.

He couldn't bring his armor or his katana, not that it would have helped him. There really wasn't much he could bring at all. Those who were in charge of the mission would bring the food and water, for both the horses and the people, so he couldn't bring that. He fished through his chest and took out an old amulet that had belonged to his family. It was dirty, but he was quite sure it was made of real gold. Sometimes in the light, it seemed to shine a strange green shade.

He slipped it around his neck, and headed out to the main hall. There he saw Geoffrey, the smith, handing out daggers to those who were to be travelling. The were small, and each was affixed to a sheath that slipped into the sleeve of the robes they were to be wearing. That way no one would suspect that they were at all dangerous.

Fourteen people in total would be seeing the completion of the operation. Besides him there was Anthir, the dark elf, three Bretons, five Nords, and four other Imperials, one of which was captain Aereth, and small but strong and quick man.

Tending to fourteen horses wouldn't be easy, naturally, but it was choosing which ones to bring that was truly difficult. He needed strong horses in case a fight broke out, but also swift horses because they were travelling great distances. There also couldn't be too much of a variation in speed so no one rider got ahead of the others.

Eventually, he managed to gather a group of them. The other blades were ready, all wearing identical sets of forest green robes. They were masquerading as monks of Julianos, on a pilgrimage to the deserts of Elsweyr.

He would be riding a relatively large paint horse named Sandshine. She was somewhat temperamental, but he could easily control her and keep her calm. He leaped up onto her back and shuffled around, trying to get comfortable.

Annel stepped up to him from behind his horse. She had a solemn look about her face, quite uncharacteristic of her.

"What's wrong?" Beras asked her. He didn't like seeing her like this: it was alarming, to say the least.

"Just," she muttered. "Try to stay safe. If things get really bad, run and hide. Don't try to fight."

"But we're blades," he protested. "We have to try to fight back against these elves. If I die in the process of doing that-"

"Don't you dare!" Annel interrupted. "Dying isn't worth it for any cause. I don't care what they teach you, I'd sooner see you join the Thalmor than die."

"What's gotten into you?" Beras asked, his voice filled with concern.

She sighed and shook her head. "You aren't ready for this. I don't know what they're planning, but there's no way in Oblivion that they would send you on this dangerous a mission just to tend to some horses." She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then went on. "I think they might be trying to get you out of they way, or use you like some sort of gambling chip. Anyway, watch your back and at the first sign of danger, run."

Beras nodded. Aereth called out, signaling for them to move forwards. Beras gave Sandshine a slight nudge with his boot and rushed out into the south. His throat felt dry after hearing what Annel had to say, and he looked around at his comrades. How many of them would be willing to watch him die for the success of the mission? Probably most, if not all of them.

He looked back at the temple, and saw Annel, her golden hair blowing in the wind. Her face was glistening as if wet. He turned back forwards, and took a deep breath.

The success of this operation depended on his trust in his captains and their plans. He couldn't let his doubts and fears get in the way of that.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

These legs won't do either, he thought as he examined a bloody femur. Much to brittle. He tossed it aside, hitting what remained of that worthless old widow. Not one scrap of her was salvageable. He couldn't even use her heart for alchemy.

He had better dispose of the corpse before it began to smell. He couldn't stand a filthy laboratory. Around the dark stone room were bookshelves crammed with tomes and scrolls. Enchanting and alchemy laboratories were set up on either side of the room, each with materials for their respective art nearby. He wasn't going to let the order of his hideout be ruined by flies and rot.

He held up his hand, flames dancing between his fingers, and blasted her mangled body with a thin jet of flames that engulfed her in moments. With a snap of his fingers, an enchanted broom flew over and swept up the ashes.

That's all alteration and destruction were good for in the long run. Disposing of things and petty chores. Those who said otherwise was kidding themselves. Conjuration was the true school of magic, were greatness could always be found.

He walked over to his scrying pool, a shallow dish filled with perfectly still water. In its reflection, he saw his muddy skin and ash grey hair. At first glance, one could easily mistake him for a dunmer. As if a dunmer could achieve what he had. The thought was almost humorous.

He had deep purple bags under his eyes from countless sleepless nights and somewhat wrinkled skin from his great age. He was nearing on four hundred now. No one in their right mind could say that he was by any means appealing, but this body wouldn't matter much longer.

Arkinstar, one of the greatest necromancers in history, a high elf of such age and knowledge that none could compare. He had witnessed the glory of a necromancer in his early thirties who had terrorized Dwynnen in High Rock. A lich who controlled a vast army of the undead, the inspiration necessary for centuries of work. Arkinstar wanted nothing more than to show that poor excuse for a mage how it was done, and outshine him like the sun outshines a star.

He had stood by as the Camoran Usurper ravaged Valenwood. He had patiently observed as the Warp in the West unfolded. He had scoffed as the Nerevarine proclaimed her existence on Morrowind, and he had plunged into the secrets of the daedra during the Oblivion crisis. Emperor after emperor fell, yet he still walked, a true display of his superiority.

And now some wretched old woman with failing organs and crumbling bones stood in his way of perfecting a new type of resurrection. He sighed in frustration, realizing he'd have to pick out another victim.

He walked quickly through the cavernous sewers, careful not to tread on any of the rats. Each one of the pests had an illusion spell cast upon them, causing them to kill anyone but him on sight. After climbing a small ladder, he emerged into the bustling streets of Wayrest, a town in High Rock near the border of Hammerfell.

People were walking here and there, buying frivolous goods in the market: Amulets, rings, even a pair of calipers. Who uses calipers? The bright colors stung his eyes which were used to the dark and dull shades of the sewers, and the noise… it was unbearable.

Glancing around, he eyed a target. A broad shouldered young Breton male, maybe twenty years of age and in his prime. He had short blonde hair and light skin. More importantly, he had perfectly structured bones by the looks of it, and he couldn't have poor organs. Regrettably, he appeared to be the blacksmith's son. It would be noticed if he went missing almost immediately.

Arkinstar's eyes shifted over to a second man, another Breton, this one with thinning grey hair. He wouldn't provide as fine materials for experimentation, however he appeared to be a beggar, judging by his tattered robes and his persistent groveling at the feet of some rich old lady.

He took a deep breath in and felt his magicka build up in his shoulders. He moved his hands around slowly, the red light of a powerful illusion spell emitting from his fingertips. A guard looked over at him.

"Hey!" she shouted, her Breton accent thick. "Don't go casting that on anyone, you hear?" She had long brown hair and tan skin, with bright green eyes. She was tall and fit, perfectly structured to be a guard. Seeing that he wasn't stopping, she pulled out her sword and began to rush over.

Arkinstar smiled, and forced the magicka buildup in his shoulders down and out through his hands. Red light flashed out of him and spread throughout the entire city.

"What in the name of Zenithar do you think you're doing!?" screamed the guard.

Arkinstar spoke, his voice level and eerily calm. "I've cast a memory spell on every citizen in this town. Anything that happens from now until I remove the spell will remove itself from your memories. even this conversation." He strode casually over to the beggar, a daedric dagger sliding out of his sleeve and into his hand. "You won't even remember how you died," he whispered into the man's ear.

Before he could even panic, Arkinstar moved the dagger quickly across his neck, spraying blood across the street.

"By the gods!" screamed the guard. "Murder!" She rushed at him, obviously planning on killing him. Suddenly, she stopped dead. "Wha-!?"

Arkinstar had his empty hand held up to her, and she, like his hand, was glimmering a slight green shade. "Don't even try to move, it won't work," he explained. With one hand, he lifted up the dying beggar and began walking back to the sewer hole. The old man was struggling weakly, pressing his thin hands up to the wound on his neck. Slowly he went limp and his arms fell to his sides, dead.

Arkinstar dropped the corpse down the hole with a muffled thud, then climbed onto the ladder.

"You won't get away with this!" shouted the guard frantically.

Arkinstar laughed. "You say that every time." He shut hole closed above him and snapped his fingers, releasing the spell. Instantly, all the commotion above stopped. Smiling contently, he leaped off the ladder and carried his fresh corpse to a table in a second room to his lab.

In seconds he had cut up the body and removed the bones, heart, and liver. With a wave of his hand, he conjured up a glass jar to preserve the organs in. As he expected, all the bones were at least usable. The skull had some minor damage done to it, but nothing serious.

Rubbing his hands together, Arkinstar began casting a rudimentary necromancy spell he had invented. Suddenly, the bones leaped off the table and arranged themselves into a complete skeleton. A purple light now shone in the eye sockets.

He cleared his throat and spoke to his new minion. "You may join the others in the back corridors." He kept all his puppets there, waiting for a day when he could unleash them on this poor excuse for a world.

He then looked sadly at the remaining pile of flesh that had been discarded. He had yet to discover a use for it, for without the bones, any zombie he resurrected just flopped over like a useless puddle of meat.

For now though, he simply burned the leftovers. Someday he would figure out a use for it, for wastefulness was something he strived to turn away from. Wasteful. What an excellent adjective. It perfectly described every living being in Tamriel. Living their short and sad lives, consuming with no purpose, then rotting away in some gods forsaken grave.

He would make use of their lives for them, allowing them to join his undead legion, thus putting use to his life. He would not go unremembered. He would not need to be remembered, though. Memories are the thoughts of things that have passed, things that are done and gone.

Arkinstar, master necromancer, would never be gone.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

My legs hurt… Those the words that continued to resound in Beras' empty head. He loved horses, but riding them was such a horrid form of transportation. Couldn't they make saddles a bit more comfortable? A simple cushion would make a world of differences. They had been riding for only a few short hours and already he could feel bruises forming all over the upper parts of his legs.

Suddenly, Sandshine ran over a bump in the path, sending Beras a few inches into the air. It wasn't a very far fall back to the horse's back, but it was enough to cause him to wince in pain.

A nord woman to his right glared over at him. She had long dirty blonde hair that was blowing back from the wind caused by rushing forward on her horse. Her eyes were brilliantly blue, and they went well with her slightly gold skin. "What's the matter Beras?" she scoffed. "Too soft for a short trip? Why don't you run back to your mother, milk drinker!"

A second nord woman rode up behind the two of them, almost identical to the first. The only noticable difference was that her eyes were green. "Way to be insensitive Bruda. His mom is dead. You were there when Anvil got attacked, remember?"

Bruda sneered. "Malia, just go back to your-"

"Our," inturrupted Malia. "Our mother. Or has the fact that we're twins not sunk into that thick skull of yours?"

Bruda growled, gritting her teeth.

Malia smiled kindly at Beras. "Don't let her get to you. She's rude to everyone."

Beras smiled back awkwardly, not making eye contact. Malia was overkind. Naturally Bruda was mean to everyone, but everyone knew she hated him in particular. Ever since he spilled the mead he was bringing to her all across her bed sheets, she had gone out of her way to try to torment him.

He shook his head and looked forwards. They would be coming up on the Imperial City soon. He didn't want to miss seeing the White Gold Tower up close!

Another hour or so passed before they got close. Lake Rumare shimmered in the setting sun, giving an orangish glow to the beautiful white walls of the city. Beras looked to the front of the band of Blades and saw that the captain was talking in hushed whispers to several other high ranking members.

Oh please, he thought. Let them say we're staying here for the night! He had always dreamed of seeing the inside of the palace, of seeing the dragon statue in the temple that had, according to legend, appeared after the last of the Septim dynasty ended the Oblivion Crisis. Not to mention, he didn't think he'd ever be able to walk again if he didn't get off this stupid saddle.

Suddenly, captain Aereth held up his hand to draw their attention. Once everyone was listening, he shouted back at them, "I hope you brought gold, because staying the night in the city isn't cheap! Those who didn't can sleep with the beggars!"

Beras couldn't help but smile and look up at the starry sky, shutting his eyes in relief. Then his eyes shot open in a panic. He quickly slapped his hand to his side to check whether or not he had brought his coin purse, then quietly thanked the gods when he found he indeed had. By the feel of it, he certainly had enough for a room in an inn, and probably some left after that to spend in the market.

Dismounting Sandshine was such a relief. The group walked their horses over to the stables. The small wooden shack looked old, and signs of many repairs throughout the years were visible all across it. A tattered old sign read "Chestnut-Handy Stables."

A young orc woman opened the door when they knocked. She looked as though she had just leaped out of bed, which of course, was probably what had happened. "What do you want?" She snapped.

"We were just letting you know that we were leaving a lot of horses in your stables so you wouldn't be alarmed when you saw them," Aereth replied in a polite tone.

The woman slowly closed the door, mumbling something about the "stupid family buisness" and how after "centuries of horses" someone should have at least thought of a change in career.

Aereth then turned to address his soldiers. "Alright men. And women. There are only so many inns in this city, so I'm going to have to assign rooms to you all. Anthir, Adulf and I will take the first room in the Tiber Septim Hotel. Bruda, Malia, and Cyna will take the other."

Bruda and Malia gave out identical groans of irritation at having been placed in the same room. Anthir looked between his roommates, clearly annoyed for some reason that all their names started with the letter "A".

"Sabel, Adwyth, and Annet will take the first room in the Merchant's Inn, and Behrta, Beras, and Gylas will take the second room. Everyone else will take a room in the All Saints Inn."

Beras shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know Behrta or Gylas very well, only that the latter was quite possibly the most rowdy and loud person he had ever met. Should any of the three of them get any sleep, it would be a miracle.

Aereth cleared his throat to draw back everyone's attention. "We meet back here at ten in the morning. If so much as one person is late, rest assured we won't be stopping until we reach Elsweyr."

The group disbanded, each set heading off towards their designated inn. Too tired to look around at his beautiful surroundings, Beras decided to wait until morning to sightsee.

A few minutes and five coins later, he sat on his bed in the room they had rented, massaging his rear end and thighs, which ached persistently from the long ride. Before he even knew what was happening, Gylas threw himself down onto the bed next to him and wrapped his arm around Beras's shoulder. He was well built and muscular, not as tall as Beras but certainly not short. He had muddy brown hair and dark brown eyes, and a square jawline.

"Massaging those rock hard glutes of yours?" he asked teasingly.

Beras flushed a bright red that spread across his face and ears, and tensed up. He stopped trying to ease his pain, and looked straight down at the floor.

Gylas laughed and pushed him over onto the bed. "Seriously, lighten up!" Seeing Beras wasn't getting up, he began bouncing lightly, a playfully stupid grin across his face. "Come on!" he said. "It's so rare that we are away from the captains and other people who might rat us out! We can talk about whatever we want!" Again seeing Beras's unresponsiveness, he nudged him with his foot. "What do you want to talk about? The choice is yours, though I wouldn't say no to a conversation about your pretty nord girlfriend."

"I don't want to talk," Beras moaned quietly, his ears now even brighter red, if that was at all possible. "And I don't have a girlfriend."

Gylas gave him a skeptical look. "First of all, who doesn't want to talk? You don't actually plan on sleeping, do you?" He bounced higher this time, and landed stretched out across the bed, parallel to Beras. Their faces were inches from each other, one with a gleeful expression, the other one of suppressed horror.

The door swung open and Behrta stepped in, a tall but thin Breton with jet black hair. "What in the name of Mara…?!"

Gylas sat up quickly. "Bah," he said. "You're no fun Beras." Without another word he leaped off the bed and latched onto Behrta, sending him to the ground.

Behrta shoved him off, and tried to stand. "What the-" He couldn't finish his sentence before being pulled back to the ground.

Beras pulled the pillow up over his head, trying to block out the sound. He could tell it was going to be a long night.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

Beras turned over slowly, and hugged his pillow. He was so warm. His bed was so comfy… where was he? He opened his eyes, remembering his trip to the Imperial City. Leaping out of bed, he looked around. Behrta and Gylas were still sleeping, the latter snoring softly. He hadn't woken up too late to explore the city. He just had to be sure not to wake the two others.

Very quietly he made his way to the door and grabbed the knob. He pulled it open slowly, sure not to make a sound, then stepped out. His foot landed on an unfortunately placed creaky floorboard. Eyes wide open in horror, Beras turned around to see Gylas shifting around in his bed, clearly having heard the sound.

Waiting not a moment, he bolted out of the inn and breathed in the fresh air of the market district. He gazed in wonder at the beautiful and massive white walls of the city for a moment, then frowned. They were filthy. The lower sections of them were completely covered in mud.

"Not quite what they used to be, are they?" Beras jumped and wheeled around to see a guard dressed in full steel armor standing behind him. She too was looking at the walls. "With the war going on, we've had to devote all our funding to repelling attacks. That includes the gold that should have been going to keeping the city clean." She shook her head in shame, and continued on her way.

Looking between the guard and the walls, Beras felt the weight of fear fall upon him. Were things really this bad? Were the Thalmor really that powerful? He smacked his forehead, reminding himself that now wasn't the time to think about that. He had only a few hours to look around the city, and he wasn't going to let them go to waste.

He quickly found a map and spotted the temple district on it. Without another thought, he ran off in the direction. Around him were signs of neglect: Broken windows, mucky ponds, tattered shop signs, and many others. Nevertheless, it was still beautiful, upholding a dignity and demanding respect.

Beras stopped dead. He had just entered the temple district, and before him was a massive stone dragon, reared up on its hind legs: All that remained of the Avatar of Akatosh. Looking around, he saw no one. It was early enough that few people were awake. He made his way over to the Temple of the One, and swung open the door.

It was a circular building, its roof opened to the sky. The statue stood in the center, head up above the highest point of the building. Around it were small red diamond shaped tiles, representing the fabled Amulet of Kings. It was all true. Of course, he had known as much, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else. He gingerly reached out his hand, and touched the stone dragon.

Immediately, his hand felt warm and a soft light enveloped him. Alarmed, Beras pulled his arm away and took a few steps back. Then he heard a soft chuckling. Slowly poking his head around the statue, he saw an old woman. A wood elf with white hair pulled up in a bun, and wrinkled skin, she smiled as soon as she saw him. She wore deep lavender robes, and was holding a walking stick.

"It would seem you have Akatosh's favor, child," she said, her voice sweet and crisp. "I see great things in your future."

Beras stood still, oddly calm. For some reason, the woman didn't make him nervous at all. On the contrary, she felt welcoming, as if she were his own grandmother. Stepping forwards slightly, he cocked his head to one side slightly and asked quietly, "Wh-who are you?"

She smiled and laughed again, pleased that he was spending the time to speak with her. "I am Dagail."

Beras furrowed his eyebrows. The name sounded familiar. "Do I know you?" he inquired.

"You do now," she responded. "And I know you too. Or at least, I know who you are to become."

"You aren't making sense," Beras said in confusion. Who was this woman? She didn't seem mad, though the things she was saying were.

"You see," she said, pulling out a beautiful amulet from beneath her robes. "I have visions, child. I've been having them for a very, very long time. I can see glimpses of what was, what is, and what may be, should events unfold as are meant to." Turning the amulet around in her palm, she continued. "I have seen your face before, long, long ago. Far before you were born. Before even your grandfather was born, I'm sure. And it is no coincidence that we have met here today."

"What do you mean?" This was getting creepy. But he couldn't back away now. He needed to know what she was talking about.

"Don't you see?" Dagail said, pointing her cane up to the statue. "We are here, in the presence of Akatosh, dragon god of time. It was his pulling on our strings of fate that brought us here."

Beras turned and looked back at the statue. Was Akatosh really watching him? It must be true, for he had clearly received some form of blessing from the dragon. But why? Why him? "I don't understand," he mumbled in despair.

"I have seen you. It is your hand that will shape the lives of so many." She looked up at the sky, the sun now risin. "I have seen them. The Blades, the dead, the Thalmor. All shall be changed and more, by your actions."

"The Thalmor?" Beras inquired, now alarmed. "Are you with them?"

Dagail laughed. "No, child, no. They are but a poor misguided few, blinded by pride and arrogance, tearing things apart like infants while claiming they are the eldest of all." She breathed in heavily, and let out a long, echoing sigh. "Such sadness and anguish, splattering the pages of history with the blood of the fallen."

"I'm sorry," Beras said. "I shouldn't have assumed, just because of your race. I suppose my thinking all high elves are associated with those people is just as bad as the Thalmor thinking we're lesser beings."

Dagail gave him comforting look. "No, child. You have wisdom beyond your years, beyond all the years you will ever live. You have a deep fear rooted in your heart, one that screams out in your subconscious like a wounded dog." She looked back up at the sky before saying, "In time, you will conquer that fear. Then the fog enveloping your life will fade, and you will shine brighter than the sun."

Beras looked down. "You know so much about me, yet I know nothing. I can't use a sword, I can't use magic, and I'll never be able to fight back against the Thalmor."

Beras felt a withered and on his shoulder, and looked up. Dagail had stood, and was looking at him fondly. "Perhaps, child, those are paths that are not meant for you. I think you will come to find that you will walk a journey no other can follow."

They stood there for a few minutes, just the two of them, in total silence. Then Dagail cleared her throat. "Your time in this city grows short. You must go, child, regroup with your fellow Blades."

Still bewildered by how much the woman knew, Beras nodded and turned to leave the temple. Stopping just before he reached the door, he quietly asked, "Can you see my death?"

Dagail sighed. "Alas, no. That is a power only seen in the gods themselves."

Beras nodded gravely, and opened the door. As he stepped out into the early morning sun, he heard the old lady call to him,

"Take care, child. The world is at a turning point, and many lives will fall when the scales are tipped."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

They had abandoned the roads several hours ago, instead opting to ride through the wilderness. Passing by the glimmering white Ayleid ruins gave Beras the chills, so whenever one came up he turned in another direction. The Blades almost had to fight a group of bandits, but Aereth had the wits to order them all to outrun the scoundrels.

Beras could tell that they were getting close to the border of Elsweyr. It had begun to get warm, far warmer than Cloud Ruler Temple. The last time he had been somewhere with a temperature like this, he was living in a small house in Anvil. The thought of it made his eyes begin to water, but he rubbed them before any tears could form.

He saw a figure approach him from his left, and he looked over to see Bruda mocking him, pretending to cry. She then roared with savage laughter before being slapped in the back of the head by her sister. At the same moment, her horse passed over a bump, causing her to bite her tongue. Furious, she pushed ahead of the two of them.

Malia came closer to Beras, rolling her eyes. "Horrid, that one," she said, gesturing towards Bruda. "No appreciation for the emotions that make us who we are. It's as if she thinks that by hiding hers, she appears stronger to others." She then looked at Beras, clearly expecting some sort of response.

He shrugged, and looked forwards again. He could still feel the weight of her gaze. He hated being noticed. He knew Malia was trying to be nice to him, and trying to make him feel more comfortable, but it wasn't working. If anything, it was making it worse.

Malia looked away, clearly feeling somewhat discouraged. "Anyway, please don't let her get to you. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Beras nodded as she rode off to the side. Ahead of him, Aereth had held out his arm to the left. The signal to slow down. They would be arriving at the edge of the province of the Khajiit soon, and they would need to make sure they weren't seen crossing over. A few officials demanding their identities could risk the entire mission.

The grass had begun to grow more coarse, some of it browning and growing in patches. It was clear that the provinces were divided by their geography more than anything else. One could easily see the physical change as they passed from one to another. It made Beras think of the war and how, despite provinces being captured, they never got renamed or reshaped. He supposed this was the reason why.

"We'll be coming up on Riverhold within the next half hour," Aereth shouted back to his squad. "Once we get there, keep your heads down and let me do the talking!"

They all nodded in unison, trusting in their captain without a shadow of a doubt. But Beras couldn't help but wonder why he had been brought along. Ceolwe had said it was to tend to the horses during the trip, but so far that hadn't been at all necessary. Perhaps they were simply looking for an excuse to give him some experience?

He slapped his forehead, reminding himself that he needed to focus on the task at hand. He could see riverhold off in the distance, and even from afar he could tell it was a busy market town. Caravans filled with goods were lined up outside the walls. Despite its name, however, there were no rivers in sight.

In a few minutes they were able to find a stable just outside the gates. A shriveled old Khajiit woman who reeked of skooma tied up their horses for them. After paying her, she whispered in a thick accent, "Take care, travellers. This one's town is filled with sneaking feet and grabbing hands. It would be best to watch your pockets at all times."

Aereth nodded a word of thanks, then turned, gesturing to the group to follow him. They stepped through the gate and were met with the blaring roar of the crowd. Merchants trying to sell their goods, shoppers haggling for lower prices, people screaming as their belongings were taken, the Thalmor guards taking no interest in chasing down the thieves.

They walked around the market for fear of getting lost in the mob. Once they were far enough away from the crowd to hear their own thoughts, they took a rest, sitting on benches, or on the ground. Beras leaned up against a wall, just at the corner. He wanted to avoid the others as much as possible.

In less than a second, a hand wrapped around his mouth and nose as an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled. Unable to scream or even breathe, Beras was pulled down the backside of the building he had leaned against. He tried to break free, but the grip was too strong. In a moment, he could feel the blade of a knife pressed lightly against his neck.

"Alright," said the silky voice of a male khajiit. "Hand over all your gold or I end your life this instant!"

Trying to remain calm despite his situation, Beras took a deep breath. "In the pouch on the left of my belt. Take all you want, just please don't do anything rash." He felt a hand reach into his coinpurse and fish around, grabbing all the gold it could. Then the knife was lowered from his throat, and he was let go. He collapsed to the ground, shaking, the fear having caught up with him.

"Don't even think about telling anyone of this!" the khajiit said in a forceful whisper. "I could track an eagle on a cloudy day, and I most certainly could find-"

"Beras!" Looking up, he saw Malia, Bruda and Anthir sprinting down the alley towards him. It was Malia who had shouted, but already Bruda had slid her dagger out from her sleeve.

The thief took a few steps backwards. "What the-" he began to say, but before he could finish, the dagger had been thrown, stabbing neatly into the hem of his tunic, pinning him to the wall.

Malia passed her own dagger to Bruda, who accepted it gladly. She rushed forwards, holding the tip of the blade a mere inch away from the khajiit's dirty face. "Euch," she spat, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I suppose you were looking for more gold to spend on skooma? Disgusting creature."

"Please!" he begged, a look of panic across his furry face. "Please take me to the guards! "

This struck Beras as somewhat odd. The fear was understandable, for he had just been in the same situation, but why would he beg to be taken to the guards? Shouldn't he be begging them to simply let him leave?

"You despicable coward!" Bruda sneered. "Threatening someone's life then quivering in fear when your's is at stake." She nodded her head towards Beras, then demanded, "Give him back his gold, or else."

"Here!" he shouted, throwing the coins to the ground. "Now take me to the guards!"

Beras stood up, ignoring his gold. "Why are you so desperate to go to the guards? You gave me back my money, I don't see why we can't let you go now." The three other Blades looked at him with shocked expressions. Not only had he willingly spoken to a stranger, but he was being far too quick to forgive.

The khajiit seemed to think so too. He gave Beras a suspicious look, then said slowly, "You really don't understand how things work around here. I'm telling you this because, for some reason, I like you, but turning me into the guards would be the same as letting me go now."

"What do you mean?" chimed in Malia.

"I mean," he continued, "the Thalmor guards would do nothing. They don't care about any crimes imposed upon 'lesser beings' like you and I. Were you an elf, I'd be executed on the spot."

"Get lost scum," growled Bruda, pulling the dagger out of the wall. The khajiit silently scampered away into the shadows.

"Are you okay?" Anthir asked Beras as she gathered up his stolen coins. "We saw you were gone, and feared the worst!"

Beras nodded. "Thanks for coming for me."

"Don't worry about it," Bruda said, smiling at him for the first time. "It was fun."

Malia gestured for the others to follow her. "We need to regroup and inform captain Aereth of the information we've gathered."

Beras nodded again. They had best be on their toes from now on.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Beras stared blankly at the wall of the room he was staying in, head tilted slightly to one side. He was trying to block out the drone of Gylas's endless chatter. Typical of the captain to keep everything routine by giving them the same roommates.

"And I just couldn't get over it! I mean, I've never seen one so large!" Gylas had been telling the same story about how he killed his first mudcrab for two hours. Each time, it became more and more fantastic, all the while becoming less and less believable.

"You know," Behrta said. "At two o'clock, one hour from now, we're going to be watching the entrance to the prison." He gave Gylas an accusing look. "Don't you think we should be preparing?"

Upon arriving at the inn, Aereth had revealed to them all the purpose of the mission. Three member of Tennsa's squad that had tried to secure the daedric weapons had been captured for questioning and taken to Riverhold. They were being held in the prison, and it was their task to break them out.

Beras, Behrta, and Gylas, being far less experienced than the others, would be posted as lookouts. Beras's partners were several years younger than him, each in their late teens, and had only been members of the Blades for half a year or so.

Annoyed at being told to stop talking, Gylas stuck his tongue out at Behrta. "What do we need to prepare for anyway? All we're doing is sitting outside, and if we see anything we shout to the others. We barely have a role. We'll just wing it!" We walked behind Beras and slapped his hands down on his shoulders, massaging his neck. It was as if he had some sort of compulsive need to touch people. "Right, buddy?"

Beras's ears had turned red again, and he mumbled something about not really being of much use either way. Gylas laughed, slapped him on the back, and jumped down on the bed.

The three of them remained in their room, Gylas endlessly talking and moving, Behrta repeatedly checking to see if he understood the plan, and Beras fidgeting awkwardly in the corner. An hour later, right on schedule, they were called out to begin the operation.

The night air was surprisingly cool, and caught Beras off guard after growing accustomed to the heat of the day. It felt nice, and tasted fresh. He and his two companions headed over to the prison, and, in accordance with the plan, leaned up against the outer wall. They each took out an empty skooma bottle. Anyone who saw them there would assume they had just gone somewhere remote to take the drug.

Ten minutes passed, the three of them standing there in silence. Beras couldn't help but smiling slightly. Things were actually seeming to run smoothly.

How wrong he was.

Mere seconds after the thought entered his mind, he began to hear shouting coming from the prison. Panic flushed up his body, tensing him up and prickling every nerve. His eyes flew wide open and made contact with Behrta's.

"It's fine," he said, giving Beras a weak smile. "Probably nothing." Then the door to the prison exploded, rubble and fire flying out like a jet.

"Run!" a woman's voice screamed as five or six of the Blades sprinted out.

Adrenaline pumping through his body, Beras bolted after them, Gylas and Behrta slightly ahead of him. "What happened!?" Behrta shouted.

"They figured us out!" Malia shouted back. "They knew we were coming! They somehow knew!"

"Where are the others!?" Gylas had a look of seriousness and fear that Beras never would have thought possible displayed across his face. "Your sister, Aereth, where are they!?"

Malia shook her head. "Dead. But we don't have the time to mourn them we have to ru-!"

She suddenly disappeared, falling behind the sprinting group in less than a second. Turning around, Beras saw her lying face down in the street with an arrow sticking out of her back. A pool of crimson blood was forming around her.

Beras's eyes flew open in horror, a quiet noise escaping his lips that sounded like a scream, only move wavery and pain-filled. He stopped moving, paralyzed by fear and anguish, and fell to the ground. This wasn't happening. He had to be dreaming.

He felt himself being pulled to his feet by someone, and saw that person shouting at him to do something. Beras's mind wasn't able to comprehend who he was seeing, or what they were shouting. He had just gone numb.

Half aware of what was going on, he didn't even react as he was swung over the person's shoulder. Everything sounded muffled, everything looked blurry. Nothing made sense. Why were people falling over around him? Why weren't they getting up?

"Beras!" a voice that sounded miles away shouted. "I need you to be able to run! I can't carry you!"

Beras turned his head slowly. The speaker looked familiar. Oh, he thought. It's Gylas. Why is he so scared? Then reality hit him like a warhammer. They were all dying. Many of his friends were already dead. If he didn't move, he would die too.

In an instant, he was up, fully aware of his surroundings. The air felt crisp and tasted oddly metallic as he and seven others burst out of the city gates. Only seven. That meant half of Beras's companions had been captured, or more likely, killed. Tears streamed down his face upon coming to this conclusion.

Bruda lead the way, screaming back at the others. She was hiding her pain in order to take the lead, but Beras could see the profound sadness in her eyes that came from her sister's death. The two had never really got along, but that did not deny the fact that they were of the same blood.

"Just keep on going!" she shouted. "We can outrun them if we can just make it to-" Suddenly, she was glowing as blue lightning danced across her skin, her mouth open in a silent scream. She fell to her knees gasping for breath.

All the other Blades skidded to a stop, turning to look at her. Most of them had the daggers that they had hidden in their sleeves at hand.

Bruda coughed, a sickening, gut wrenching sound. She looked up at them, for once showing some form of emotion. Pain, sadness, and desperation. "What are you doing!?" she moaned. "Run, or they'll kill you all too." A second bolt of lightning silenced her and sent her twitching, but unmistakably dead body into the dirt.

It was then that all hell broke loose. Gylas screamed in fury and rushed at their Thalmor pursuers, brandishing two daggers, the divines only knowing where he found the second one. An elven sword flashed gold in the moonlight, and his head went spinning off his neck, crashing into Beras's chest.

Beras fell to the ground, shaking like a leaf and looking down at the bloodstains on his robes. That blood had run in the veins of someone whom he had been talking too minutes ago, someone who had been very much alive. Now it ran freely, turning the ground into thick, strong smelling mud.

He could hear his heart pumping, feel smashing into his ribcage like a battering ram. How many beats did it have left? Twenty? Ten? What was dying like? Would it be quick or painful? He wondered whether he would rather have his head cut off or be killed by magic. Tears ran down his face as he realised he would never be able to keep his promise to Annel.

Don't die. It was a simple request, yet here he was failing to meet it. He leaned backwards, lying in the blood and filth. Divines help my soul, he thought as he shut his eyes, bracing for death.

"That's the last of them," an elven voice said after a few minutes passed. "What a bother. Did they have to attack tonight? I was supposed to be sent home tomorrow, but now I'll have to fill out reports on this whole fiasco."

"Never mind that," a second voice replied. "Lets burn these bodies before the rats get at them." Beras heard the crackling of flames and decided that he honestly would have prefered death by decapitation.

"Wait!" shouted the first elf. "I think I saw one move!" There was a strange noise and a flash of purple light. "Yes, right over there! It's alive, I just used a detect life spell!"

The second one laughed. "What a stroke of luck! We needed to replace our old prisoners anyway. A hand grabbed onto Beras's throat and lifted him slightly. "Lights out for you," the elf said.

Beras felt the pommel of a sword thwack his skull and saw no more.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Arkinstar sat on his bed, gritting his teeth and looking at a pamphlet in his hand. 'Beware!' it said. 'No one is safe! People have gone missing off the streets, without a trace! You could be next, so always be alert and report any signs of suspicious behavior!'

Sighing, the necromancer lay down and shut his eyes. He was going to have to relocate again. Of course he knew it was only a matter of time before the disappearances were noticed, but it was always a pain to pack up his materials.

Striding lightly across the damp stone floor, he pulled a rolled up map of Tamriel off of a bookshelf. He spread it across a table, knocking some embalming tools to the ground in the process, and looked down at it. On many of the cities that dotted the continent were black 'X's. The towns that had already noticed deaths.

Most of High Rock was covered in them, and regardless it was best to move long distances so no link between the killings were made, so he would have to move to another province. Black Marsh and Elsweyr were out of the question: The anatomy of the beastfolk weren't optimal for necromancy.

The powerful elven mages of the Summerset Isles would notice traces of necromancy, and anyway he had been caught there several decades ago and banished. It was far too risky. Hammerfell and Skyrim felt too close, and surely one could easily track his path if he went to either of those provinces.

That left Cyrodiil and Morrowind. Morrowind would be fine, but Cyrodiil just seemed so much more opportune. With the war between the Dominion and the Empire, there would be so many corpses he wouldn't even have to murder to get the bones he needed.

Skingrad. That's where he would go. The dense buildings and alleys made for perfect hiding, and it was near enough to the war zones near Bravil and Anvil that he could easily scavenge materials from the dead.

Arkinstar rolled up the map and put it back on the shelf. Then he walked over to an old chest, and pulled out what looked like a crimson soul gem. Holding it in one hand, he began casting a spell that emitted red light of the same hue. A ball of the light flew out of his hand and hit the books and the shelf. They began glowing brighter and brighter red, until suddenly they vanished. Then he put the soul gem into a pouch at his side.

Several years previously, he had mastered a spell of his own invention. He had modified a number of soul gems and developed a soul trap spell to capture the physical form of an object, rather than its spiritual body. This allowed him to transport lots of books and materials for his experiments with ease. When he wanted to bring what he trapped back, he simply shattered the gem.

He continued packing up all his materials: His enchanting and alchemy labs, his vault of soul gems, and the rest of his books and notes. By the end, he had eight or so gems in his pouch. Now he had to dispose of any evidence that he was ever there.

Arkinstar breathed in heavily as flames began to leap between his fingers. A swirling pattern of fire formed around him, growing taller until it reached his shoulders. Then he quickly spread out his arms, and the flames engulfed the room. When they died down, not even ashes remained.

Smiling, he admired his work. Only a genius could so perfectly cover up all traces of his existence so perfectly. It was only a matter of time before he could confidently say he was the most powerful mage who ever lived.

However, there was one magic that eluded even him, one that drove him mad with fury. The time altering magic of the Psijic Monks. He had encountered one of their order once, and it was a moment that left him in shame every time he thought of it.

Naturally, when seeing the mage he had underestimated her. Using a simple illusion spell, he was able to analyze her. It showed that her magical prowess was nothing compared to his. She had not mastered a single school of magic, and her skills were limited. However, the spell wasn't able to account for how powerful time magic was.

Before he could even strike, she began moving faster than lightning, striking him with a barrage of basic spells that would not have been a problem, had they not been sent at him in such magnitude. He was utterly defenseless. It took weeks to recover from his near fatal injuries.

One day, he told himself, I will take that power for my own, and when I do I will be unstoppable.

Arkinstar had but one more thing to do before he left Wayrest for good. He walked through the sewers, admiring his temporary home. He would miss the slippery walls, the cool damp air. Turning through complex passageways, he eventually came to a tattered old door. He pushed it open and basked in the glory of his work.

Filling a massive opening were hundreds of skeletons, their glowing blue eyes reflected across the water coating the walls. Dotted here and there were zombies of men and women in different styles of gear. Arkinstar had never liked using zombies, but these were more of trophies than weapons. Great heroes and enemies of his that he had vanquished in the past.

His head turned to the side, Arkinstar looked out at his army. He wondered how long until he could use it in its full power. He so longed to conquer land. Just one province would be enough for him. Maybe even a small one, like High Rock. He had grown used to the climate, and taking it for himself and the dead would give him plenty of space to practice spells that put the gods to shame.

Before he left, he needed to test a new spell that would make his travel far more easy. Pointing a finger at one of his skeletons, Arkinstar zapped it with a blast of purple light. It vanished immediately. With his second hand, he snapped his fingers, and in a flash of the same light, the skeleton reappeared by his side.

He breathed in, satisfied with his work, and began zapping all his minions. It took time, and lots of magicka, but eventually all of them were stored safely away in the aether. With a swish of his cloak, he left the room and made his way to a secret exit. It was this very exit that he had first entered the sewers.

It was night time out, but that was to Arkinstar's preference. The stars gleamed brightly in the sky, taunting his mortality. He would show them some day, when all of Mundus feared his name.

He looked around, a memory of a stable nearby entering his mind. A horse would be useful in traveling long distances for sure, and besides, he was meaning to try out his skeletal mount spell.

He found the stable, a few hundred feet to the left of the exit. It was a small hovel, the roof caving in and clear signs of wood rot in the foundations. Arkinstar smiled, seeing a horse that would be perfect.

He walked over to it and cast a basic calming spell on it. It didn't even react as the necromancer stoked its shoulders, feeling out its skeleton.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

Arkinstar looked up and saw a wretched old man wearing filthy, ragged clothing. His teeth were falling out, and the few that remained were yellow. The elf wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the savagery of humanity.

"Step away from my horse!" the man shouted, but in a second he was running for his life, a fear spell having been cast upon him.

Stripping the horse of its bones was easy. Laying them out across the ground, Arkinstar laid a soul gem where the heart would belong and cast a spell across them. The rose and took shape, forming a perfect ride for a necromancy.

Smiling, he leaped onto its back and rode off, into the east.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Water was falling from the sky. Not raining, falling, as though thousands of buckets were being emptied in the clouds. Beras stood, or more accurately, floated in mid air. He was drenched, hair and clothes clinging to his body. His eyes opened slowly, and he held out his hand, watching the water run through his fingers.

Suddenly, drops of red were falling with the water. More and more of them contaminated the crystal liquid until blood poured from the heavens. Looking around hysterically, Beras watched the reflections of his friends' deaths in the crimson cascades...

His eyes opened wide, now very much awake. It was cold, and he was in a stone room with bars on the door. A prison cell. In a panic, he tried to stand, but found he was chained to the wall by his wrists, wearing nothing but a loincloth. All his belongings had been taken.

Judging by the small amount of stubble that had formed on the lower parts of his face, he had been in the cell for at least a few days, but no more than a week. But why was he there? Where was he? And why did his head hurt so much?

Then it all hit him like a warhammer. Malia, Bruda, Gylas, Behrta, Anthir, and all the others, dead. Killed before his very eyes. The horror of it all was too much to bear. Despite himself, tears formed in his eyes and he let out a choked sound of anguish and pain.

Something moved outside the cell, and a voice shouted, "It's awake!" Judging by the accent, the speaker had come from the Summerset Isles. A few moments later Beras heard the click of a lock and the door swung opened. Two elves, a man and a woman, wearing black and gold robes stood in the doorway. Thalmor.

Beras tensed up in fear, pressing himself further against the wall in a desperate attempt to protect himself. He looked away, tears still streaming from the corners of his eyes. Why wouldn't they just go away? They had taken enough from him already. He would rather have died than be used by the Aldmeri Dominion.

"So," sneered the woman. "Your people truly believe that they can waltz into elven territory without their human stink being noticed?" She stood there, gloating over him, pleased by how much he was at her mercy. "How many of you were there?"

Beras didn't answer, still desperately trying to swallow his tears. In a moment he felt her boot under his chin. With it, she pressed his head back against the wall so she could look at him.

"If I were you," she said in a threatening tone. "I would answer my questions." She held out her hand, tiny bolts of lightning bouncing around her palm.

Beras tried to speak, but his voice got caught in his throat. In a moment, he was spasming madly, crying out in pain as he was blasted by shock magic. Just as quickly, it ended, leaving him breathing heavily and twitching slightly from the magic.

"Are you ready to answer?" the elf said, preparing another burst of lightning.

Beras looked up at her, one eye half closed. "Fifteen," he muttered. Another choked sound left his mouth at realizing how easily he was giving in to the enemy.

The woman looked at him, scrutinizing his face with a look of disgust. "I think you're lying," she whispered. "I guess magic isn't going to scare it out of you, so let's try mutilation." She drew a curved dagger out of her pocket and twirled it around in her hand.

Beras couldn't believe it. He had been honest with her. "Wait!" he yelped. "I'm telling the truth!" He could feel the sharp point of the blade pressing down on the top of his shoulder.

The elf smiled maliciously. "Well, why don't we find out, shall we?"

The knife was like fire running down the length of his arm, carving a thin line from the tip of his shoulder blade to the back of his wrist. Beras shouted out, crying and screaming for it to stop. Why did he ever leave the temple? Why did they ever go on that stupid mission? Why didn't he just die with the others?

"Inyen," the Thalmor male said quietly. "Don't you think you're going a bit far? We do need him to be alive you know."

Inyen, the elvish woman stopped, knife still digging into Beras' flesh, the latter sobbing in agony. "You dare interrupt, Lathinar? Don't bother me, I'm enjoying this. It's about time I taught one of these filthy Imperials what I think of their worthlessness." She turned back to Beras, eyeing him like a piece of meat. "Not to mention," she said more quietly. "I've been trained in restoration magic. I can heal up whatever damage I cause."

Beras looked up at her, his golden brown eyes locking with her bright green, pleading for mercy. He received none.

He didn't know how long it was before she stopped. It felt like hours, but it could just as well have been minutes. All he knew was that his arms were horribly wounded, blood dripping off his fingertips and running down his skin. As Inyen stepped away from him, he was left hunched on the ground, head in his knees, reduced to a miserable wreck.

"Lathinar," she called. "I'll need you to clean up its blood. We wouldn't want human filth defiling our blessed elven property." Without another word, she sauntered out of the room.

Lathinar sighed, clearly annoyed. "Lathinar do this, Lathinar do that," he mocked, rolling his eyes. "Why am I always the one who has to take care of the prisoners?" He walked away, shutting the prison door and locking it behind him.

Beras looked down at the red that was seeping into the cracks in the stone floor and felt light to the head. That was his own blood. Bracing himself for the worst, he turned his head to look at the wounds on his arms.

Horrible red gashes were carved all the way up his arm, exposing the muscle beneath. Blood still dribbled out of them, and he knew if he didn't receive attention soon, he would die. It was probably for the best though. Better to die now than to suffer any more of this.

Suddenly, Beras heard a strange clicking sound at the door, then the sound of a lock opening. The door swung open and a third elf, also dressed in black and gold robes, entered. She had jet black hair, yellow eyes, and pointed cheekbones that made her face light up in strange places. Beras saw her slip what looked like a set of lockpicks into her pocket.

She walked over to him, and her palms began to glow with a golden light. She hovered her hands over the cuts running along Beras' arms, and instantly they began to heal, a soothing and warm feeling flushing through his body.

Then she leaned in close, so her mouth was less than an inch from his ear and whispered, "Just hang on for a few more days." Then she left, shutting the door behind her. She had been so quiet that he could hardly tell if she had actually spoken.

But what had she meant? Wasn't she just healing him up for more torture? Beras groaned. He was confused, tired, thirsty and hungry, and just wanted to go home. Things weren't supposed to be this way.

Would the people back home at the temple even hear of the tragedy that struck on the mission? Maybe some Thalmor agents had gone to them and shown them Aereth's head, like they did with Tennsa. If so, they probably believed him to be dead too. And Annel would think that he had…

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think about that. He needed to figure out what that woman had meant. Hang on just a few more days. It sounded like they might release him, but that was too good to be true. More likely she meant, 'In a few days we'll execute you, so you're only going to be tortured until then.'

But why had she had lockpicks? She surely had a key to the cell. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. He had lost a lot of blood, and his brain might not have had enough oxygen to be able to function properly. Or he misinterpreted what he saw. For all he knew it was actually a spellbook, or something to remind herself how to heal people. Beras bit his lip in confusion, wondering what in the name of Talos was going on.

The door burst opened again and Inyen, the woman who tortured him, stepped in, looking furious. "That careless miserable wretch!" she spat. "I should have him demoted for leaving the cell unlocked!"

It was then that Beras noticed what she was holding. Wicked looking torturing tools; hooks, knives, clamps, screws, and more. Just looking at them made him cringe in fear. "No…" he muttered. "Please, I'm begging you." He looked into her cold eyes, more tears forming in his.

Inyen smiled a cold and cruel smile. "Oh," she sighed in ecstasy. "It has been too long since I've had this much fun." Then she selected a jagged knife from her set of tools and slowly approached him.

"Please!" Beras shouted, trying desperately to break free of his bonds. "I'll tell you anything you need to know!"

She laughed genuinely, as though what he said had amused her somehow. "You think this is about information?" she chortled. "There's nothing you could tell me that I would wish to know. No," she said, taking a step closer and preparing to cut him. "This is for my own enjoyment. For sport. To show you miserable humans how you are forever at our mercy." She was now very close, and she crouched to the ground, touching the tip of her knife to Beras' forehead. She smiled again at noticing her victim's loud and fast heartbeat. "And mercy is something you shall never again receive."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Beras stared blankly at the wall, head hung limply over one shoulder. He was filthy, covered in dirt, sweat, and dried up blood. No thoughts were present in his mind, just emptiness and misery. It had been two days since he had first woken up, and since then he had received torture by the hour. Before now, he hadn't known that someone could possibly feel so much to break free other Blades went, they wouldn't risk trying to find him. That is, if they even knew he was alive. Inyen despised him so much, he knew it was pointless to think that she might let him go. He just hoped she would hurry up and kill him, and pleaded with the the gods that she wouldn't use him as a toy for her sadism any longer.

Suddenly, a noise caused Beras to look up at the door. It was the same clicking sound that he heard before, the one he assumed to be the sound of someone picking the lock. Moaning, he pleaded that it wasn't the restoration mage. If possible, he hated her as much as Inyen for keeping him alive.

He had already given up hope of being rescued or released. Seeing how horribly their last

Despite his prayers, it was her. She looked around suspiciously before making her way over to him. She held a lockpick in hand, proving his theory right. But why wasn't she simply using a key?

Flicking her hair out of her face, she inserted the pick into the keyhole on Beras' handcuffs. He furrowed his eyebrows as he realized what she was doing. In a few moments, he collapsed to the ground, his arms finally having been freed.

Looking back at the entrance to the prison, the elf softly asked, "Can you stand?" Her voice was light and smooth. Then she stared down at him. Her expression wasn't remotely malevolent, carrying more of a feel of concern than anything else.

Beras met her gaze, weakly tilting his head back to see her face. "I- I don't think so…" he groaned. "Where are you taking me?"

"To safety," she replied, grabbing him under the arm and pulling him up. "I'd dress you up in Thalmor robes, but you couldn't pass as an elf if your life depended on it." She tilted her head to the side in thought, before adding, "Which I guess it kind of does."

Beras stumbled, trying to regain his balance. It would appear that he was able to walk, but only when supported like he was. Shaking his head, he looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't even know who you are. Are you… rescuing me?" None of this was making sense. Why would a member of the Thalmor free one of their own prisoners?

The woman started half dragging, half walking Beras towards the exit. "Yes, I'm breaking you out, but there will be time for explanations later." She shut the door behind them, and turned left. "This way," she said. "I hid what they took from you in a chest over this way."

The room was large and rectangular with a stone floor similar to that which was in the cell, only cleaner. Other cells were lined up along two of the walls, with doors to different rooms on each other side. In the center was a wooden table with two chairs where the jail guards would presumably sit.

"Wait," the mysterious elf said, slapping herself on the forehead. "Before we move on, I should heal you." She helped Beras sit down in one of the chairs, then took a step back. Her hands started glowing with the same golden light as before, and she placed them over his heart. They were warm to the touch, and that warmth spread throughout his entire being. In seconds, he felt completely renewed.

"Thanks," Beras said, stretching out his stiff joints. He was ready to finally get out of this hellhole of a prison.

The mage gestured for him to follow her and, obliging her request, he left the room. As she had promised, there was a small chest just outside the door. Opening it, she tossed Beras his robes. They were warm, and the feel of finally wearing cloth felt wonderful against his skin. His dagger was also given to him, which he slid into the pouch in his sleeve.

Then, she handed him his amulet. "This," she said. "Was difficult to get back. Did you know it's enchanted?"

Beras shook his head.

"Well, you can tell because sometimes it seems to glow. I'm sure you've noticed that." She looked at it curiously. "I don't know what it is that it does though."

Taking the amulet, Beras looked at it with a new light. Maybe it was actually useful somehow. He slipped it around his neck and tucked it under his robes to keep it safe.

"Alright," the woman said. "Here's the plan. On the floor above us, there's a flight of stairs that leads to another basement area like this one. Over there is trapdoor that opens to some sewers." She looked around again, making sure they were really alone. "I have some friends waiting down there for you. They'll take it from there."

Beras looked at her, confused. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

She sighed. "I told you now isn't the time for explanations. We need to focus on getting out of here. Unnoticed." She put so much emphasis on the last word that Beras couldn't help but take a step back. "It isn't going to be easy, and not meaning to offend you, you don't look like the sneaking type."

Beras looked down, embarrassed. "I- I can move kind of quietly, I guess… But if they look in our direction they'll see me for sure." He hated this. He was going to ruin everything and give them away. And then he'd be stuck in that torture chamber forever. He couldn't help but shake a little at this last thought.

"Don't worry," she replied. "It'll be more risky and you'll be on your own, but I can make some sort of a distraction. You can slip into the basement then." Then she tossed him a few lockpicks. "Know how to use these?" she asked.

Beras nodded, and tried to swallow his fear. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the events to come. He was going to need all of what little courage he possessed.

"This way," his elven rescuer whispered. The two of them climbed the stairs, trying not to make a sound. They were relatively successful, for the stairs weren't at all creaky. Upon reaching the top, they peeked around a corner and saw a group of three sitting around a table. Two high elves and a wood elf, all talking casually and drinking wine.

One of them laughed, slamming his goblet on the table. "I know, right? Inyen's gone mad!" He laughed again, leaning back against his chair.

"Honestly!" another responded. "It makes me regret capturing that Blades agent. Poor kid. I'd hate to see what she's done to him."

The third nodded in agreement, taking a swig from her glass. "I think it's about time one of us took her job. She had better retire soon, or she's going to completely lose it."

Beras looked at his accomplice questioningly. In turn, she nodded in the direction he needed to go: through another room, and down a passage. The staircase would be at the end.

Standing up, she strode into the room, a look of fury on her face. "And what exactly do you think you're all doing?!" She glared at each one of them in turn, and it was clear by their reactions that she had at least some degree of authority over them.

One of them, the elf that spoke first, stood up in a flurry. "N-nothing, Mithelye, honestly! We were on break, so we just-"

"Break?" inturrupted Mithelye, for that apparently was her name. "Break!? That's not what I've heard! The three of you were called for ten minutes ago, and here you are relaxing! This is the kind of behavior that will get you stuck on prison duty!" It was alarming to see how stern she could be.

As she lead them out of the room, Beras slipped around the corner as quietly as he could. His heart was racing. If he got caught, it was all over, his one chance of escape snuffed out. He peered into the second room, and his stomach lurched at what he saw. Inyen herself was sitting at desk, her head flat on its surface. She was asleep.

He couldn't breathe. It was as if someone had grabbed him by the neck. Swallowing, Beras ever so carefully took the first step into the room. His foot was silent, giving no cause for his enemy to awaken. He kept walking, slowly, so slowly across the room. He had made it to the stairs when his foot accidentally something. He had no idea what it was, but it was made of metal. He could tell this much by the loud clanging it made as it fell down the steps.

In less than a second, Inyen's eyes flared open. Upon seeing Beras, she let out a scream of fury and, like an animal, leaped over the desk. Beras yelped, narrowly dodgeing her outstreatched fingers, and ran down the stairs. The elf was inches behind him, snarling and snatching at his legs.

In moments, he found the trap door and sprinted towards it. Grabbing the handle, he pulled, but to no avail. It was locked. Of course it was locked. That was why he was given lockpicks.

The slight moment of hesitation after finding his exit was blocked was all Inyen needed to pin him to the ground. She was incredibly strong, her thin arms easily holding him motionless against the stone.

"I'm not done with you yet!" she screamed, drawing a dagger from her side. It was over. Beras braced himself for the endless pain that was to come.

Suddenly, the trapdoor flung open, and in a flash of light, Inyen was thrown across the room. Her head hit the wall, and Beras heard a crack as she was knocked unconscious.

A pair of hands wrapped under his arms and pulled him back, and in moments he was falling into the safe darkness of the sewers. He heard the sound of a lock closing, and instantly collapsed, fast asleep.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Beras woke, but kept his eyes closed. He didn't know where he was, but it was warm, and he was lying on what felt like a bedroll. Recalling the events of the previous days, he felt nothing but relief, knowing for the first time in almost a week that he was safe.

Rolling over, he opened his eyes to find that he was in the sewers he had been trying to escape to. A fire was crackling a few feet in front of him, casting shadows across the murky brown floor. A river of water and sewage flowed nearby, the sound of water echoing throughout the cavernous tunnels.

Two figures stood sat on stools behind the fire. Their faces were turned away, and their heads covered in grey hoods, so nothing could be made of them. Hushed whispers were being passed between them, and from the sounds of the voices, they were a man and a woman.

Taking a deep breath, Beras smelled something. Cooking food. Suddenly, his stomach growled painfully, and his mouth started watering. It had been days since he had eaten anything. But he couldn't simply ask them for it, he thought, his ears turning red just by the thought. For all he knew they weren't willing to go that far to help him. Shutting his eyes, he pretended to be asleep and tried to shut out the pain.

Suddenly, a loud roar erupted from his stomach. Clenching his teeth, Beras prayed that no one had heard. The gods clearly hadn't been with him these past few days though, for he heard one of the two say, "Go wake him up before he starves to death."

Moments later, Beras felt the toe of a boot poking his shoulder. "Hey," a male voice said quietly. "Get up, we need to get going."

Opening his eyes again, Beras looked up to see an argonian standing above him. His scales were a dark teal color, and he had orange stripes above his eyes. Grey robes flowed over his shoulders, and a black sash ran from one shoulder to his waist. Bright blue eyes looked down at him from the hood that was thrown over his head.

The argonian held out his hand to help Beras up, which the latter accepted. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Beras looked around. The other figure was a redguard woman. She had pulled down her hood, revealing short curly black hair and deep brown skin. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black.

"Come over here," she said with the voice of a mother. "Have some food before we head out."

Beras nodded and made his way over to the fire. The woman handed him a clay plate with bread and potatoes on it, which he thanked her for. Taking a moment before eating, he inhaled deeply through his nose, capturing the warm steam coming off of the potatoes.

It tasted as delicious as it smelled. It had been so long since he had had a hot, cooked meal. It tasted like a dish that Malia sometimes made, when they had potatoes back at the temple. Malia.

Before he knew what was going on, he had his hands and knees on the floor and was sitting in a pool of his own vomit. Looking down at his hands, eyes wide opened in shock, he retched again, flooding the floor with a fresh coat of vomit.

The redguard woman looked over, distressed. "Oh, no," she said. "My cooking wasn't very good, was it?" She rushed over and put her hand on his forehead, checking for fever.

The argonian sighed, and sat down on the floor. "Alix, calm down. It wasn't your food. He's in shock." Stretching himself across the damp ground, he grabbed a stone and began throwing it up and down. "Not only has he been being tortured for a few days straight, but remember that group of Blades we heard were killed? They were probably his friends."

"Well if we can't get some food and water into him he's going to die!" Alix, the redguard snapped back. "He's going to have to bring himself to it and accept it soon. If he vomits whenever he remembers, he'll never make it."

Beras just wanted them to shut up. Shut up shut up shut UP. Everything was pain, a physical tugging in his chest, like some sort of prisoner trying to break free. It hurt. His knees were shaking, and after a few seconds he collapsed. Lying in his own gastric juices, he let out a choked sob, tears now streaming from his eyes. He was filthy and looked pathetic, but he didn't care. He was already dead.

"He's burning up," Alix whispered to her comrade. "Sabona, do you know any spells to cure diseases?"

The argonian, Sabona, sat up. "Yeah, I do, but it won't work on this." He threw the rock against a wall, and it bounced away into the sewage. "It isn't a disease."

Help me, Beras thought, his mind burning with the images of death, of his friends dying. Make it stop. I don't want this. Please. It felt as though his heart was melting and dripping down into his stomach.

"Then what is it?" Alix shouted. "We need to help him, he can't die here! What about-"

"Shh!" Sabona cut her off. "We'll have time to discuss that later, we don't want to distress him even further." He swung his legs onto the ground, propelling himself into a standing position. In moments he had crossed the room to where Beras was lying.

Holding him by the shoulders, Sabona rolled Beras onto his back. Putting his hand on Beras' chest, he felt his accelerated heartbeat. With two fingers, he gently closed his eyelids, then opened them again.

Go away, Beras thought. Leave me alone. Leave me to rot. He wanted to push the stupid man away, but he couldn't move himself. More tears erupted from him. He was useless, and stupid, and weak, and a waste of time and resources. Why did he survive, when he wasn't any use to anyone at all?

"He's not going to be able to walk for at least a day," Sabona decided after thoroughly examining his patient. "The stress and fear needs to flush out of him before he can even hope to accomplish anything."

Alix looked panicked. "But in a day those elves will surely have found a way down here!" She looked around, as if expecting Thalmor agents to burst around the corner at any second.

Sabona nodded. "Yes, they will. We're going to have to move out, whether or not he can move." He looked down at the barely-conscious Beras, sizing him up. "I guess we'll have to carry him."

No. This wasn't happening. He wasn't going to let them carry him like some sort of, of… He didn't even know what but he was not being carried out of this place. Beras opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a pained squeak.

"You think you can carry him?" Alix said doubtfully. Beras was somewhat bigger than Sabona, and even if the latter could lift him, they would still move very slowly.

Sabona nodded. "It's not like I'll be doing any running, but he should be easy enough to move." He looked down at the vomit-covered mess that was Beras. "We had better get moving or they'll catch up with us."

Beras felt scaly hands reach under his shoulders and hoist him to his feet. In a second, he had been thrown over the argonian's shoulder.

"Ugh," Sabona complained. "He smells awful. Like blood, sweat, and vomit."

Alix rolled her eyes. "There's a reason for that," she replied, sassily.

This was horrible. This was humiliating and unfair. None of this should be happening. He should be at the temple, in his bed, worrying only about the cold, chores, and staying out of people's ways. This was beyond him. He was already stretched to his limits, and any more would break him. Who were these people anyway, and why did they care about him? Why couldn't he just have his friends back? Why couldn't he be sitting in front of the fire in the main hall, innocent and oblivious to the evils of the world?

Whenever Sabona took a step, his shoulder jabbed into Beras' stomach painfully, causing him to wince. He hated himself. Why, why after all this, was he actually concerned about physical pain? His mental pain was far worse, this should be insignificant. Yet he couldn't help himself but let out involuntary sounds of pain.

"Alix," Sabona called. "Do you still remember that spell you learned to put people to sleep? Because I think it would make everyone feel better if he got some rest right about now."

The redguard nodded and held up her hand. It was glowing with a soft purple light. Just looking at it made Beras feel drowsy.

"There there," she said comfortingly as she put her hand on her forehead. "Everything is going to be alright."

Beras felt himself slipping away, the world going black around him. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell fast asleep.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Beras rolled over and opened his eyes. He smiled and sat up, looking around at the bedroom in Cloud Ruler Temple. Stretching his arms, he turned to see a figure standing in the doorway. After a moment, he recognized it as Gylas.

"What are you doing?" Beras asked him, for it was unlike the boy to be still or silent. It was somewhat alarming in fact.

Gylas smiled, a cruel and evil smile that made Beras' insides squirm. A drop of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Beras jumped back, flinching in alarm. He blinked, and within the duration in which his eyes were shut, Gylas' head had vanished. Beras screamed in horror as blood bubbled up from the stump of his neck.

Suddenly, something began forcing it's way out of the exposed windpipe. First hair, then a nose, and a face erupted from the stump, the neck growing longer and longer until the head of Inyen was inches from his. The arms began to lengthen too, and they snatched Beras from his bed, holding him still a few inches above the ground.

Beras cried for help and struggled, but to no avail. Inyen laughed at his futile squirming, and held him even tighter. The Temple around them was burning, ashes and chunks of the walls falling away. The demonic Inyen spread her lips to reveal long, sharp fangs. She lifted Beras up to her opened mouth, blood already dripping from her teeth and a wolfish look in her eyes.

Screaming, Beras sat up like a triggered bear trap. He was breathing heavily, a thin layer of cold sweat coating his body. His heart could be felt easily, banging against his ribcage. He swallowed. It was a dream.

He collapsed back onto the bedroll he was lying on, and shut his eyes, trying to block out the pain and fear of the last few days. He didn't know where he was, but he was safe. That was one thing that he was sure of.

Sitting up again, Beras decided to look around the room he was in. It was very small, more like a large closet than a room. There was nothing in it but the bedroll he was lying on and a door. Standing up, he looked down at himself. He was wearing brown linen clothes. He realized with horror that someone had changed his clothes.

His face turning red, he ran his hand through his hair. It was clean. Someone had also bathed him. He smacked his hand onto his eyes, trying to block out the mental image he was creating.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. He wanted answers because things weren't adding up in his head. He flapped his arms and shook his head, trying to brace himself, because he knew that the moment he stepped out of that door, people would be looking at him. He slapped his face and took another deep breath before making his way to the door.

As he pushed it opened, the door creaked unfortunately loudly, and by the time it was opened the same two people who had been in the sewers below the prison were looking at him. It was a fairly large room, a somewhat circular area made of stone. All around the walls were various plants which gave the enclosure a natural feel. In the center was a large pool of water, a few feet deep.

Standing in the middle of it was a large statue, maybe ten feet tall. It depicted a winged woman wearing long flowing robes, with sleeves that hung down to her ankles. Her arms were held above her head, and floating between her hands was a bright light. She seemed to simply radiate power, and looking at it gave Beras a strange feeling of humility.

"Oh," Alix said, delighted. She was sitting on a stone bench in front of a fire. Neither she nor Sabona was wearing the robes they had been before. Instead, each was wearing the same set of plain clothes Beras was. "Thank goodness you're awake!" She beckoned for him to join them.

"Show some restraint, Alix," Sabona called. He was laying on the floor with his legs crossed and the back of his head resting on his hands. "He's just woken up, and he doesn't seem to be the social type." His eyes were shut, and he was clearly thinking hard about something. Beras glanced at him. There was definitely more to the argonian than what met the eye.

Alix rolled her eyes at Sabona. "My apologies," she said sarcastically. Turning back to Beras, she continued from where she left off. "Anyway, we need to talk."

Beras crossed the room and sat down opposite from her on another bench. Fidgeting madly with his hands, he tried and failed to make eye contact. "Um… w- who, uh, who are- who are you?" he stammered.

"I'll tell you," Alix said quietly. "But you need to let me explain first before you get alarmed or anything." She took a deep breath. "We're Daedra worshipers."

Beras' eyes widened with fear. Daedra? The demons from the world of Oblivion that tried to topple the Empire all those years ago? What did these people have to do with them?

Alix shook her head. "You're getting it all wrong. I can tell by the look on your face that you immediately thought of Mehrunes Dagon and the Oblivion Crisis. We aren't like that." She held out her hand, and Beras saw little sparks of golden magic fly around in her palm. "You see, we're acolytes of Meridia, Daedric Lord of the infinite energies. She gives life and guidence, and is not at all malevolent."

Beras held his fingers to his temples and shook his head. He still didn't understand. They worshipped a Daedra, a good Daedra, and that was fine, but what did he have to do with it? Why did they go out of their way to rescue him?

"Meridia needs you," Sabona said, as if he could read Beras' mind.

Beras blinked rapidly. Needed him? Surely there must have been some sort of mistake. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered. "It can't be me. I-I'm no use at all." He swallowed, trying to block out the tears that were forming again. He had let everyone down. They had all died and he was too weak to do anything about it.

Sabona sat up and looked Beras directly in the eye. Beras felt like he couldn't look away, like those deep aqua pools were pulling him in. "Well," the argonian muttered. "She clearly thinks otherwise. "We were told that a new prisoner would be taken to where water is stored after the massacre of fourteen swords, and that prisoner would be the champion of Meridia."

"We figured out that where water is stored is Riverhold," Alix chimed in. "Not literally, but river and hold. River being water, and hold being stored. The fourteen swords, well that's obvious. Fourteen blades."

"Anyway," continued Sabona. "We sent Mithelye, our Thalmor double agent, to Riverhold and waited. It didn't take long, just a few weeks, before your group of Blades came along. Mithelye called us over, and we broke you out as soon as we got there." He lay back on the floor and shut his eyes again.

Beras stood up, his fists clenched like a child's just before throwing a tantrum. "So," he whispered. "You knew. You knew they were going to die." Clenching his teeth, he shot the floor a nasty look. "You let them die. You knew they were going to and you could have stopped it, and you let them die."

Sabona glared over at him. "Don't be foolish. There is nothing we could have done."

Alix nodded in agreement. "We're only good at battling the undead. We would stand no chance against the Thalmor, and if we had fought we would have died as well. Then there wouldn't be anyone to save you."

Gritting his teeth, Beras mulled this over. He knew that they were right, but he couldn't help but resent them. They were treating the death of his friends, the people he would have called family, like some sort of letter or notice that what they wanted had come.

"Why should I help you?" Beras mumbled.

Alix pursed her lips. "Maybe," she suggested. "You should listen to what we want you to do before you decide that you are reluctant to help us. Because I'm assuming your goals will align with ours."

Beras sat down again, looking somewhat disgruntled. "Fine," he decided. "What do you need?" This wasn't fair. He needed to get back to the Temple and tell everyone what happened. That is, if they hadn't already been told. Their heads had probably been given back like Tennsa's. Meaning his head wasn't given. Then maybe they would know he was still alive.

Sabona had stood up. He walked a few steps until he was standing above Beras. Again, Beras felt his gaze being drawn somehow to that of the argonian's. "Alright," he said, looking Beras up and down. "It looks like we can work with you."

Beras looked puzzled. "Work with me to do what?"

The argonian smiled gravely. "To hunt a necromancer."


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Arkinstar smiled, admiring his work. His new lair was pristine. He had set up in a new sewer hideout beneath Skingrad. Already, his bookshelves were standing against the walls and a table had been put up up in order for him to work on necromancy. Alchemy and enchanting tables were pushed against another wall, with a chest filled with materials next to each.

Cracking his withered hands, he decided it was time to work on a new project. With a snap of his fingers, a book flew off of one of the shelves and into his hands. Along its spine was the title "Secrets of the Darkest Art," and a picture of a screaming skull.

It had taken ages for Arkinstar to secure the tome. It had last been seen in the hands of Mannimarco, the legendary necromancer. During the Oblivion Crisis, the Archmage of the Mages Guild had stopped the King of Worms from rising to power again. In doing so, the book was lost for more than a century, but Arkinstar had his methods of finding it.

It took many long weeks of scrying and travelling, but he managed to track it down. Smiling at the memory of finding it, Arkinstar took a deep breath. He knew his goal was closer to fruition than it had ever been before. In it were the details of the ascension to lichdom. The process of unbinding one's soul, of creating a phylactery to hold their essence, was too close to be real.

Naturally, the process was difficult, but he was confident in his abilities. He had worked a way around the obstacles and the time consuming process. However, he would need more test subjects. Lots of test subjects. Pondering for a minute, he decided that he needed them both live and dead.

With one hand, Arkinstar shut the book. Snapping his fingers with the other, he sent it flying back onto its shelf. With a swish of his robes, he turned and headed through the twisting halls to the exit. He couldn't help notice how much less suitable these sewers were. They were much smaller and less winding. It would be easy for someone to find his laboratory after stumbling in.

Thinking quickly, he decided that once he returned from his expedition, he would cast some sort of a fear enchantment on the door handle, causing anyone who touched it to run away.

Sometimes, he thought it was incredible that no one else could understand what he did. Were they really so dull that they could not fathom the things he saw? And as for their magical skill, it sometimes made him laugh to think that necromancers that were considered 'powerful' were those who could summon a mere two zombies at once. Pitiful.

The sewers opened onto a field of grass so green it made Arkinstar's head hurt. Even though it was night, it's color didn't seem to fade enough for his liking. Rolling his eyes, he cast a powerful detect life spell that he had adapted. It allowed him to see life up to almost a mile away, what species it was, and what they were doing.

Upon casting it, a large mass of people were visible not to far to the west. Elves and humans, fighting. Another battle in this so called 'great' war. He smiled. This was perfect. He waved his hand and vanished, having cast an invisibility spell upon himself.

Arkinstar was fast and quiet, sliding across the earth with hardly a sound. He passed an elk, stupidly munching on grass, and it took much restraint to stop himself from killing it on sight. He hated wild animals.

In time, he arrived at the war zone. The light of weak destruction spells flashed, glinting on the armor of the Imperial Legion. A few quick observations led to the astonishing discovery that the Empire seemed to be winning this fight. Barely able to contain his laughter, Arkinstar scanned the ground. There were at least twenty or thirty fresh corpses, and more on the way.

It was then that he noticed with disgust where they were fighting. A large statue of a woman wearing robes stood near to the soldiers, her hands held forwards. It was the old Shrine of Meridia, the detestable Daedra who despised the undead. Countless of her worshippers had tried to stop him in the past. None were successful, obviously.

Shaking his rage out of his head, Arkinstar looked down just in time to see the last elf fall, an Imperial soldier having slashed her across the neck. The young man fell to his knees, running his fingers through his hands.

He laughed nervously. "We did it," Arkinstar heard him say. "By the divines, we actually did it!" Then he vomited.

Arkinstar began to make his way over to the twelve or so remaining specimens. He was ten feet away when he stopped to listen some more.

"Ugh, Earin, you're disgusting!" another Imperial shouted. "Come on, I want to get back to Skingrad and hopefully get some sleep."

With that, Arkinstar snapped his fingers, ending the duration of the spell. The soldiers jumped, a few brandishing their swords in his direction.

"What the!?" yelped the same Imperial. He was by far the biggest of the group, and appeared to be their leader. "Where did- who are you!?"

"I'm sorry," Arkinstar said sarcastically, with a cold smile. "But you won't be going back to Skingrad. You will sleep though. For a long time." He raised one hand dramatically, waving it around in a complex manner. Purple light began glowing in his palm.

The leader jumped back in alarm. "Kill him!" he shouted in a panicked voice. The others all unsheathed their weapons and began running at the necromancer.

"Hush now," Arkinstar whispered. "The scent of your fear will only make them more aggressive." A bright flash of light temporarily blinded the Empire's army, causing them to stop for a moment. When it faded, at least fifty skeletons had appeared behind the elf. "Capture, don't kill," he commanded.

Trying not to laugh at how pathetic they were, Arkinstar watched their little eyes widen with terror. Four of them stumbled back, too shocked to fight or even run. Seven others had already turned tail and fled, leaving only the leader standing defiantly. Arkinstar grinned at seeing the weakling's legs tremble, sweat beading on his forehead.

Less than a second later, the Imperial was on the ground, buried under a mass of living bones. His screaming was music to Arkinstar's ears. More skeletons chased mauled the four who couldn't run, leaving the rest to chase down. He sighed in delight. It had been too long since he had shown someone what true horror is.

His robes fluttering like leaves in the autumn, Arkinstar walked slowly to the now unconscious leader. His servants had done incredible work, as usual. The man was out cold, with hardly a scratch on him. Best to keep the meat fresh.

Looking up, he saw that the other skeletons had returned, holding the rest of the poor excuse for an army. Twelve test subjects. This was simply going perfectly. Snapping his fingers, Arkinstar commanded them to carry his victims back to the sewers, to tie them up and gag them. He would join them in a minute, but he had some work to do.

Arkinstar glared menacingly at the statue of the Daedra. Stepping towards it, he swallowed his untempered fury.

"So," he whispered. "Do you still think you can stop me? Are you going to send more of your little worshipers to their deaths?" There was no response. Of course not. But he knew she was listening. Meridia hated him too much not to be.

"You've only ever helped me, sending me more corpses for my research. I bet you think that each time you send a new fool after me that they will be the one. There will never, never, be the one."

Meridia's statue just stood there, unchanging, ignoring the necromancer's words and threats.

"You can't win against me. You're pathetic gifts of life and your so called 'infinite energies' will always give way to death, and death is my realm. So, what will it be? Send more of your followers to their deaths, or leave me to complete my work?"

The Daedra gave no signs that she had heard.

"Answer me!"

Again there was silence.

"ANSWER ME!" Arkinstar screamed, conjuring a great gout of flame that sent the shrine toppling to the ground. His face contorted in rage, he sent fireball after fireball at the statue, crumbling it to dust. Then he spat on the remains, and turned to head back to the sewers.

He had better things to think about than the weak influence of a foolish and powerless goddess.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"And this necromancer," Beras said slowly, trying not to shake with fear after hearing about his new enemy. "You want me, someone who has never cast a spell, who was banned from using weapons because of how bad I am with them," he swallowed. "You want me to… to kill him?"

Sabona was lying on the floor again, fiddling with a twig from one of the plants that were positioned against the walls. "That pretty much sums it up," he responded unblinkingly.

Beras stared at him, trying hard to analyze the argonian. Was he really this casual about the situation, or was he just putting up some kind of act? "But you told me that he's defeated everyone you've sent at him! And brutally murdered them!" He shook his head, trying not to vomit at the thought of the atrocities the dark mage had committed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to become a zombie."

Alix looked around nervously, clearly worried about losing Meridia's chosen champion. "No," she said quietly. "We aren't sending you out right now. Obviously, you need to train up."

Sabona nodded in agreement. "Beras, what do you know about restoration magic?"

Beras thought for a moment before answering. "Only that it is used to heal, and that the priests in all the chapels were trained in it." He remembered being sick once, when he was only nine. His mother had taken him to the chapel back in Anvil, and a priestess had stood over him. With a flourish of her hand, he had been enveloped in a golden light, and had immediately felt well again.

"That much is true," Sabona replied. "But it can do more. It can enhance your abilities, give you resistances to magic, shield against spells, and most importantly, banish the undead." A small white light appeared in his palm, which spread out into a circle of light that spiraled around him. "This is a guardian circle," he explained. "Most undead creatures that enter it will catch on fire and flee."

Alix cleared her throat. "That spell is well known in Tamriel, but we will be able to teach you things that only those who follow Meridia can learn." She folded her arms across her back and began pacing. "While most restoration mages know how to ward off the undead, we know how to kill them outright."

Beras crossed his legs and began to twirl his foot around nervously. "What if I'm not any good at magic? What if I can't learn?"

"That isn't an option," Sabona said bluntly, snapping the twig between his thumb and forefinger. "Besides, I doubt Meridia would have chosen you if you were completely useless." He leaped to his feet and walked over to Beras until he was so close that the latter felt uncomfortable. "I understand that you have been through a lot lately. You watched your friends die, you were prevented from returning home, you were tortured for days, and now you have an immense and dangerous task ahead of you. It's enough to make anyone go crazy."

Alix watched the situation, clearly ready to step in if she thought it had gone too far. She seemed somewhat on edge, as if they were in foreign territory, and she anticipated attack at any moment.

"I understand that you're tired, both physically and mentally," the argonian continued. "But right now, we have problems. Big problems. If you aren't able to get past your grief, many more people will continue to die, and face suffering even more intense than yours."

Beras nodded. He understood that he needed to help, that he needed to prevent any more of these horrors from happening, but he couldn't simply push aside his grief. He couldn't put aside the fact that many of the people he was closest to were killed before his eyes.

"I will help," he said slowly. "In whatever ways I can. But I'm not- I'm never going to get past my grief. I won't let that stop me though."

Alex raised her eyebrows. "You're willing to have your negative emotions resting inside of you while trying to accomplish tasks that will only add to their weight?"

Beras nodded, and looked down at the floor. A sudden wave of heat passed through his face. He needed to shut up. They probably thought he was a stupid child, like everyone else who ever met him.

Quick as lightning, Sabona grabbed Beras' face by the jaw, and lifted his head up so their eyes were locked. Beras swallowed nervously, not knowing what to make of this. The argonian seemed to be staring into his very soul. He felt violated, as if his entire life was on display. He couldn't even begin to guess what this man was thinking. Sabona scared him, almost as much as Inyen had.

"Don't," Sabona said bluntly. He gave Beras a little shove, who stumbled backwards and fell onto the bench. "Just don't. We can't work with you if you're being shy around us."

"Sabona, there's no need to be so harsh," Alix interjected. "We need to treat him with some gentleness or he isn't going to want to be open with us." She walked over and stood behind Beras, putting her hands on his shoulders. On contact, he flinched. "There's only so much someone can take, and you shouldn't be adding to his load."

The argonian glared at her for a moment, then backed off. Clearly he respected her views and ideas. After a few moments of silence, he quietly said, "Your training will begin tomorrow." Then he exited through a door that Beras hadn't seen due to the plants.

The door shut quietly, leaving Alix and Beras alone in near silence, the only sound being the water in the pool. Taking her hands off of him, Alix walked over to a chest positioned next to the bench she had been sitting on. She took out a piece of bread and tossed it to Beras, who dropped it ungracefully.

"Please don't think poorly of Sabona," Alix pleaded. "He's undergoing a lot right now, and even though he seems stoic, he is just as fragile as any of us underneath." She pinched her nose, right between her eyes. "Don't tell him I said that, he'd be furious."

Beras nodded, understanding fully that pain could drive people to hide themselves. He just wished that he could at least see into his new mentor's heart and mind, even just a little.

"Anyway," Alix said. "Could you tell me a bit about yourself? I'd like to know who I'm working with. That way I can put my all into trying to make sure you succeed where others have failed."

His mouth went dry. Beras hated this. He hated talking about himself more than most things. The question was so vague, he had no idea where to begin.

Alix shook her head. "Never mind," she said. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. After all, you hardly even know who I am." She sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. "It's probably best if I don't get attached to you. Not saying that I think you're going to die or anything." She slapped herself and shook her head.

Beras stared at her, able to feel his heart thumping against his ribs. How powerful could this necromancer be? Not even one of the people they had sent after him had returned alive, though evidently some had returned as zombies. These weren't random people who challenged him on a whim, they were people trained to fight against the undead, and even so they couldn't win. It wasn't helping his confidence that neither Sabona nor Alix seemed to think he stood a very strong chance.

Really, the only chance he had would be determined tomorrow when he started training. If he excelled in using magic, then maybe he might make it out of this alive. If not, he might as well buy himself a coffin in advanced. That is, he would were he not sure his body would be resurrected or torn apart for research.

The thought of it made him nauseous and he swallowed, trying not to lose the only bit of food he had eaten in days. Come to think of it, he hadn't taken any water or any sort of liquid, and it occurred to him how thirsty he was.

"Do," Beras stammered. "Uh, do you have any, um, any water? Or something?"

Alix nodded, stood up, and made her way to the door that Sabona had exited through. She reemerged a few moments later with a goblet filled with water. She handed it to him, careful not to spill any.

It was cool and clean, far nicer than any water he had ever had. Something must have been done to it to get it into this condition. Magic, maybe? It didn't matter.

Beras looked up from his water and his face flushed. Alix was staring at him. "You must be wondering where we are," she said, as though this were obvious to her.

In fact, the thought had never even occurred to him, but now that it had been brought up, he was curious. He nodded, running the names of the provinces and the cities that he knew within them through his mind, creating a mental map.

"We're in an underground shrine to Meridia, obviously," she said. "But more specifically, we're in one of the more southern regions of Hammerfell."

Beras coughed on the water he was swallowing. Hammerfell? He had been moved from Elsweyr to Hammerfell in his sleep? "Why Hammerfell?" he asked.

"Well," Alix explained. "The shrine in Cyrodiil, which was the closest to us at the time, kind of just sits out in the open. There isn't any place to stay, just a statue." She ran her fingers through her fluffy hair, and smiled a bit. "It's also nice to be back in my home province. I was born in Dragonstar, the northernmost city in Hammerfell. I haven't been there in a while, but being close to home still makes me feel safe." She paused a moment before asking, "Where are you from? Cyrodiil, judging by your accent, and you look Imperial."

Beras nodded. "Anvil," he muttered. He didn't like thinking about his life back home. He prefered to imagine that he had been born and raised in Cloud Ruler Temple, but he wasn't going to lie. Anyone could tell if he was lying, and he just didn't feel right doing it.

Alix furrowed her eyebrows in worry. "Anvil? Did you say Anvil? Were you there when, you know…?"

He nodded again, and chewed the inside of his cheek a bit.

The redguard's eyes were watering. "I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "So you joined the Blades after that?"

"They more or less adopted me," he replied, biting his lip. He didn't know why, but talking to Alix didn't make him feel nearly as awful as talking to most people, which was surprising, seeing how she was practically a complete stranger.

Alix sighed, a long, sad sigh. "You should probably get some rest. It's getting late, and knowing Sabona, he will want to start early tomorrow morning."

Beras stood up, and tried to say thank you, but a strange squeaking sound was all that came out of his mouth. Then he headed back to the room he had woken up in and lay down. He wasn't sure if he could manage what they wanted, but he was going to try his hardest not to disappoint the people around him.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Beras stepped into the bright morning sun, breathing in the fresh air. The wind tasted different here, more dusty and dry than back home in Cyrodiil. Nevertheless, it felt wonderful to have clean oxygen in his lungs.

Around him were oddly shaped rocky pillars, thinner at the bottom than at the top, as though their bases were slowly dissolving into the sand and dust that coated the earth. Sparse patches of spiky-looking plants dotted the ground, and the sun on the horizon cast shadows like stripes across all that was visible.

Snapped out of his awe for the landscape, Beras looked up to see Sabona gesturing for him to follow.

"I need you to sit there, with your legs crossed," the argonian said, pointing at the ground next to one of the rock columns.

Without question, Beras obliged. He tried not to feel uncomfortable with someone towering over him.

"Close your eyes," Sabona commanded.

Once Beras had shut them, he felt the smooth scales of his mentor's fingers pressing gently against his temples, with the thumbs wrapped under his jaw. Suddenly, he felt as though someone were pouring warm water onto him. His eyes flickered open, expecting to see someone with a bucket, but as soon as the light flooded his vision, the sensation vanished.

"What did you just do?" he asked, slightly panicked.

"I scanned your magicka system," Sabona explained. "To see how much magical potential you have."

Beras furrowed his brow. "My friend Annel did that to me once," he said. "It didn't feel like that." He wondered whether or not the argonian was telling the truth. It was impossible to read him, and his intentions were unclear.

"Obviously," Sabona groaned as he stood up. "She did it wrong. What did she say your results were?"

"Nothing," Beras said, thinking back. He was shocked that he didn't even ask what she had found out.

Sabona raised an eyebrow, or what would have been an eyebrow if he had hair. "Unusual. Anyway, you seem to have a fairly average amount of magicka, and nothing that might prevent you from becoming a mage. Nothing to help you become magnificent or anything, though."

Beras nodded, completely satisfied with the results. Average was fantastic for him, seeing how horrible he was at most things he attempted. If he could become an average mage, he would already have exceeded his expectations by a long shot.

"Regardless of that, I should teach you your first spell." Without another word, Sabona whipped a curved knife out of his robes and made a slash in Beras' cheek. It happened so fast that it took a moment for him to even realize he had been cut.

Grabbing at the slit in his face, he scrambled backwards. At the sight of blood on his fingers, he began to feel light headed. "What are you- why would-?"

"Your first spell," said Sabona as he slid the knife across his own palm. "Is a basic healing spell." He shook out his hand, scattering a few drops of blood on the ground. He held out his other hand and a ball of golden light appeared. Spirals of the light flew out of the orb and into his other palm. When the light faded, he held up his hand. The wound had vanished.

Beras glared at the ground. Did his face have to be cut in order to learn the spell? Couldn't he have at least learned the theory first? Then maybe he wouldn't be in so much pain. Beras almost vomited. This tiny cut hurt so much, yet his friends had experienced much worse wounds just before death. The pain a wound strong enough to kill someone must have been unimaginable.

"This is to prevent that," Sabona said, as if he had read Beras' mind. "Healing the cut will take away the pain as well." He cracked his knuckles, and gestured for Beras to stand up. "Remember how you felt as though water was being poured over you while I scanned your magicka system? To channel magicka into your hand to cast a spell, imagine that water, and direct it down your arm and to your fingertips. Try it now."

Beras did as he asked, though it was difficult. The imagined water kept getting stuck at his shoulders. Eventually though, he was able to create a constant flow. Of course he did not actually feel anything, but the imagined sensation was oddly consistent

"Good," said Sabona. Beras wasn't exactly sure how he knew that he had completed his task, but he didn't ask. "Now, the water that is at the tip of your fingers and the water that is pooling in your palms; Imagine it leaping out of your hand and onto your wound. Imagine a sort of stitching motion along the edges."

If it was difficult to imagine a motion that made sense, it was impossible to get the motion of something that he couldn't actually see to defy the laws of physics. Sure, he could move his eyes along the path that he needed to visualize, but that was different from actually having a mental picture. Whenever Beras tried to actually see the movement, it just went haywire.

He glanced up at his teacher briefly, only to be met with a scowl and a glare. "Try harder," Sabona said bluntly. "The first time is the hardest."

Gritting his teeth, Beras stared furiously at his hand, trying to get the stupid invisible water to leap up to his cheek. This would be a lot easier, he thought, if I could just use a spell tome. A book would be much easier to learn from than this rigid lizard.

"Alas," Sabona muttered. "We don't have spell tomes, as many of our techniques are kept secret. Books would just make them easy to steal."

Beras let his arm go limp at his side, staring at the argonian in shock. Could it be that he was actually capable of reading minds? Maybe his own expressions were too readable, or Sabona was just good at reading subtle expressions. Or was he just getting lucky? Whichever way it went, it was disconcerting.

Sabona took a few steps towards Beras and grabbed him gently by the wrist. With his other arm, he rolled up Beras' sleeve to the shoulder.

Beras furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you-"

"Feel it," Sabona interrupted. "Feel the path." Starting at the tip of his shoulder blade, the argonian ran his finger slowly down to Beras' palm. "Now keep feeling it," he whispered as he lifted his touch from the hand.

Oddly enough, this worked. Somehow, Beras could now feel the path, even though it was no longer touching him. Picturing it as a river or a pipe of some sorts, he let the water flow down his arm, and up. The moment it touched the cut on his face, a golden light erupted in his palm. It was warm and made a sound like tiny wind chimes in a storm. Moments later, the cut was gone, replaced by a soothing sensation.

The light flickered out, and Beras touched his cheek, hardly able to believe what he had done. He had actually used magic. He had used magic and not failed, or blown anything up, or made anyone mad.

He looked up, unable to suppress a smile, and was surprised to see Sabona smiling back at him. It was strange how expressive his face could be after seeing how stoic he acted. "You should take a break," Sabona said, clearly pleased with Beras' work. "You'll feel exhausted soon. You always do after using magicka for the first time."

Beras nodded and looked around. He wasn't really sure what he would do in the meantime. He supposed he could poke around the area, but he didn't know what he would find. All he really wanted was to keep learning magic. For the first time in his life he felt confident that he wasn't a total failure.

He wondered what he would be taught next. Another healing spell? Maybe how to kill the undead? He would certainly need that skill if he were to do what Meridia wanted of him. That guardian circle thing seemed pretty nifty, but he figured that was a bit too complex for him.

Trying to leap up onto one of the stones, he failed miserably. Tumbling to the ground, he cut his knee on one of the spiky plants. Wincing in pain, his face of anguish quickly transformed into one of giddiness.

Lifting his hand, he imagined the water again, this time zipping to his knee. The golden light once again appeared and mended all damage.

He laughed and climbed up the rock more carefully this time. Sitting on top, he gazed fondly at his surroundings. He was finally ready for the world.

Without another thought, Beras was overcome with a sudden wave of overwhelming exhaustion. The last thing he remembered before passing out was the sensation of his stomach leaping into his lungs as he plummeted towards the ground.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Beras' eyes flickered open slowly as he groaned. His limbs were sprawled awkwardly around him, and the fall had kicked sand onto him. His hair was full of the stuff, and just touching it caused a tiny avalanche to fall towards the ground. He wasn't sure how long he had been out of it for, but the sun was setting by now.

Sitting up caused a surge of pain in his head, which had clearly taken most of the damage from the fall. Beras wondered if he had been concussed. Straightening out his clothes and standing up, he decided it was probably best not to use magic to fix his head injury.

Beras, blinking off the exhaustion, stumbled forwards a few steps before he regained his balance. He rubbed his eyes, and was met with a harsh stinging sensation; he had been sunburned. Sighing, he decided it probably would have been best if he had rested.

Cursing himself for being such a fool, he ran back towards the hidden shrine to Meridia. What if he was late? He probably was supposed to have gotten through another spell or two by this point, but instead he had been asleep on the sand.

He hastily brushed some more sand out of his hair before opening the door. Upon opening it, he saw Alix sitting across from Sabona with a concerned expression on her face.

"I don't know," Sabona was whispering. "He's just…" He stopped talking and turned around to see Beras standing in the doorway. It was obvious that he had been talking about him.

Clearing his throat, Sabona shifted so he was sitting to face Beras. "Oh, we were beginning to wonder where you were," he said, his voice sounding as though his throat were dry. He cleared his throat again. "Uh, where were you, actually?"

"Uh," Beras stammered, feeling his face turning red. "I was, uh, sleeping…"

Alix slapped her hand to her forehead. "By the gods! You don't sleep in the open sun when you're in Hammerfell! You'll burn to death, or worse!" She stood up, her hand beginning to glow with the golden light Beras now had come to associate with restoration magic. Alix holding her palm over his face, he felt as though the stinging of the sunburn was being drawn from him like poison from a snake bite.

Beras tried to thank her, but the words got caught in his throat. Instead, he just smiled for about half of a second.

"Now that that is over with," Sabona said, standing up and stretching. "Are you ready to learn another spell?"

A few minutes later, the Beras and Sabona stood in the light of the two moons. Hammerfell looked about as different as it could in the dark. The golden sand had turned silvery, and the shadows lay across the terrain in a peculiar manner.

"Alright," Sabona said with a tone of authority. "I'll be teaching you a basic ward spell now. Do you know what that is?"

Beras shook his head, feeling somewhat foolish.

"I'm not surprised," said the argonian. "They were barely used a few years ago, and have only just started to pick up in popularity amongst spellcasters." He held up his palm, and a shield-like shape appeared, shimmering like hot air. "This will block any low level spells that are being cast at you."

Nodding, Beras felt somewhat confident that he understood. He just wondered what defined low level, and what would happen if you attempted to block a spell more powerful than it.

"I trust you remember the learning process of the healing spell?" Sabona continued. "For this one, instead of making the 'water', which we will now call magicka, flow to your wound, make it spread outward from your palm until it forms what I suppose you could call a puddle."

Beras swallowed. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean but, too scared to ask, he tried what was asked of him. Naturally, it was a miserable attempt which resulted in an equally miserable failure.

"Alright," nodded Sabona. "I think you might work better through a more visual and tactile representation, like last time." He walked over to Beras and touched five fingers to the center of his palm. Then he spread them in each direction away from the center before pulling his and away. "Push the magicka along those paths, but continue to extend them outward until they are a bit larger than a shield. That should do the trick."

Using this new method, it only took him a few minutes before a ward flickered into existence. "I did it!" Beras exclaimed, surprised at his own accomplishment.

"Good!" Sabona praised. "Now whatever you do, don't stop." A ball of flame began to leap around in the argonian's hand, growing until it was the size of a fist. "Try to block this," he commanded.

The fireball flew a few feet and hit the ward, which instantly shattered. Beras was thrown off his feet, and he landed on his back a yard or so back.

Groaning and rubbing his hand up and down his spinal chord, Beras asked, "What happened?"

Sabona squinted his eyes. "I think you might have been putting too much magicka into the ward. The excess magicka reacted with the fire, and ended up increasing its effect instead of countering it."

Using too much magicka? That was an issue? This was going to be harder than he anticipated. Too little and the spell didn't work. Too much and its effect was different. Beras needed to find something in the middle.

"Try thinning out the shield. Make it as thin as parchment, not as thick as metal plating," Sabona suggested. "That might fix the issue."

Nodding, Beras held up his hand again. The ward appeared, but this time he was aware that it was filled with excess magicka. Turning the flow of magic into a thin trickle, he felt the extra getting used up. Suddenly, it flickered out and died.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Beras realized that he needed to switch to a balanced flow of energy just before all the extra was burned up. He took a deep breath, and tried again.

The magicka erupted in his palm, and the ward reappeared. He switched over to a slower input, and right at the last moment, sped it up. This ward was stable, and had just the right amount of energy. He was sure this was how it was supposed to be done.

"I'm ready," Beras said. "Send over another fireball."

Sabona nodded, flames already dancing in his hand. A ball of it flew out towards Beras, and burst into nothingness on impact with the ward. It had worked.

"You learn quickly," the agronian said, biting his knuckle. "I'm honestly shocked that you managed to learn two spells in one day. Especially since they were your first ones."

Beras smiled. "So maybe I do have a chance against this necromancer?"

Sabona laughed. "Not yet you don't. But maybe someday." He yawned, and stretched his arm into the sky. "Come on. It's getting late, and we had really ought to be sleeping." He turned in place, and began to walk back towards the shrine.

Yawning in turn, Beras suddenly felt sleepiness overtake him. Sluggishly, he followed his teacher, for once proud of his own work.


End file.
